


For Want Of A Relic

by f0xh0undvix3n



Category: Fate/Zero
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2017-11-25 16:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 26,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f0xh0undvix3n/pseuds/f0xh0undvix3n
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi's stolen relic was one shipped from Ireland rather than Macedonia. As a result, an inexperienced Master determined to prove himself and a desperate Servant seeking absolution share in a quest for victory and recognition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginning Oath

   It was such a small thing, thought Waver Velvet as he sat in a plane on its way to Japan straight from England. The relic had been delivered in an unassuming package; a small wooden box, with little about it worth remarking upon. And the item within seemed so infinitesimally tiny as to be nothing more than junk. But if it was, why then had his hated teacher been delivered such a thing through high-priority mail that seemed to suggest it a treasure of great value? Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi was not a man who suffered the inconsequential or worthless to remain in his sight, never mind sent to him specifically.  
  
Maybe it was wrong of Waver to have stolen the parcel on sight and run straight for the library. But who cared? Kayneth had humiliated him in front of an entire lecture hall, ground the young student’s pride into dust and for what reason? Bloodline superiority? It made the third-generation magus sick to think about. Maybe he couldn’t trace his Magic Crest back a dozen or so generations, so what? Waver was damn sure he had just as much potential as any pureblooded magus from any family. And if that was so, why shouldn’t he take this chance that had literally run into him in the halls of the Clock Tower? If his research was right and this item was a catalyst to enter a war of magi in Japan…then he’d take this chance. He’d prove them all wrong and _make_ them believe in his ability.  
  
…But it was so _small_ , he thought again, gaze drifting from the plane’s window to the box held in both hands. Sliding back the cover for what must have been the fifth time that hour, Waver examined the supposed catalyst once more. It was no more than a splinter of what must have once been a larger object, an off-white sliver no thicker than a pencil. It was solid and smooth aside from jagged and broken ends, a material something like ivory. Could something like this really call a hero of a forgotten age? Make a legend manifest? Or was his gamble in going to Japan and participating in this competition going to be for nothing?  
  
There was only going to be one way to find out. Within a few days he’d established a base of operations in Fuyuki City; some careful hypnosis magecraft had allowed him to live with an older couple that believed he was their grandson. A day or two more and he’d gathered the chickens whose blood he’d use to draw the summoning circle. By the end of the week, everything was ready.  
  
 _‘The alighted wind becomes a wall. The gates in the four directions close.’_  
  
    He spoke the words clearly into the chilled night air, breath forming thin white clouds of mist that curled and faded with each sound.  
  
 _‘Coming from the crown, the three-forked road that leads to the kingdom circulates.’_  
  
    The burn and swell of prana rose from within and without. Waver’s Magic Crest had very little to it, but it was a Magic Crest all the same. Around the circle before him, the faintest breeze started to blow.  
  
 _‘Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Shut. Repeat every five times. Simply, shatter once filled.’_  
  
    Would it— _could_ it—really work? Could something so insignificant bring a legend to life? Could _Waver_ bring a great hero to the realm of the living? He broke out in a cold sweat as the wind intensified, swirling with the crackle and flash of energy like lightning.  
  
 _‘I announce. Let thy body rest under my dominion, let my fate rest in thy blade.’_  
     
    Whether he could or not was at this moment irrelevant. Everything—the tiny artifact, his teacher’s cruelty, the desperation to be acknowledged and noticed—was irrelevant. All that mattered were three things: the circle upon the ground, the words coming out of Waver’s mouth, and the burning of the Command Spells upon his hand. All else needed to be a distant memory, tucked away behind lock and key lest it should distract him. This was the point of no return, and Waver Velvet would not allow himself to fail after coming this far.  
  
 _‘If thou submitteth to the call of the Holy Grail, and if thou wilt obey this mind and reason, then thou shalt respond._ ’  
  
    Would they?  
  
 _‘I make my oath here._ ’  
  
    They had to. Someone had to hear this call. Some long-lost hero would surely be reached by this, Waver thought in some distant corner of his mind. There had to be someone who would acknowledge him. Who would recognize his talent, bloodline or no. Someone that would help prevent anyone from ever looking down on him again.  
  
 _I am that person who is to become the virtue of all Heaven. I am that person who is covered with the evil of all Hades._  
  
    He was desperate. Desperate to be noticed as more than a half-rate magus. To be accepted, to have his accomplishments however small mean something. And this seemed like the best chance for it. Waver would accomplish everything Kayneth had apparently been wanting to, and surely that was just to start. There was no telling how high he could ascend once this was over.  
  
 _‘Thou seven heavens, clad in a trinity of words, come past thy restraining rings and be thou the hands that protect the balance._ ’  
  
The wind picked up, so strongly Waver stumbled and fell backwards once the incantation was done. The air was thick with magical energy, cracking the ground like so many tiny lightning strikes. But aside from the burn of prana and the dust carried on the wind…there was little to it. Waver had expected some great and loud arrival, maybe an explosion. But there was little to no fanfare, so to speak—did that mean he’d failed? Grinding his teeth in frustration, Waver mentally cursed himself for thinking he could have done any of this, that a worthless second-rate magus could ever even dream of becoming more than the pathetic wretch of weak magecraft he was—  
  
    “I ask of you-“  
  
A voice cut through Waver’s fit of silent self-loathing, and his gaze snapped upwards to the clearing and swirling cloud of dust. That was not his voice. No other person was out in the middle of the forest so late at night. So that voice…that clear, confident, strong voice without a trace of hesitation…it couldn’t be anything else.  
  
The dust settled as Waver came to this obvious realization, and his thoughts were confirmed as fact. For in the center of the painstakingly drawn summoning circle stood a lone dark-haired figure in armor of black and forest green; he seemed suited to the lack of great fanfare that heralded his arrival. Golden eyes opened and fixed sharply on the new Master still on the ground. From Waver’s perspective, he didn’t fit the image of a renowned king or warlord. Built for speed rather than raw power, he looked to the magus’s eyes almost like a normal human in very abnormal clothes and yet there was no mistaking the blazing aura of strength and pride emanating from him.  
  
    “-are you my Master?”  
  
This…was the miracle given form called a Servant.


	2. Introduction

    This, Waver mused silently the next morning, was already working out perfectly. His Servant—one of the Lancer class, as the knight had introduced himself—was quiet and followed orders without question. In retrospect some time later, Waver would realize he’d done so completely without question or even hesitation. To paraphrase the old saying, if his Master said ‘jump’ then Lancer would probably hit the upper atmosphere.  
  
But for now, that was just what he wanted. A Servant should do what their Master said, right? Sure, the Command Spells existed in part for cases where a heroic spirit was rebellious or argumentative. If Lancer was to be neither, then he could save those three absolute orders for emergencies. Yet there was still something that bothered him; was it the fact that Lancer had remained in spirit form since their walk home last night and scarcely been seen at all? Was it the near absolute silence he’d been met with since the affirmation of their contract and his introduction: ‘Under the name of Servant Lancer, I will see to it victory and the Grail are delivered into your hands.’ Something about this Servant just rang a faint bell of _this person is strange_ in Waver’s head.  
  
    ”Lancer.”  
  
He appeared in a moment, materializing from nothing at just one word. Much to Waver’s surprise, he was for some reason on one knee at his Master’s side.  
  
    ”Y-you don’t have to do that—just sit down, I wanted to talk to you.”  
  
    ”Of course, Master.” Lancer replied, straightening up and hesitating for only a moment’s uncertainty before taking a seat on the edge of his Master’s bed. From the chair set in front of his small desk, Waver started talking in the most authoritative voice he could manage.  
  
    ”I think we’ve still got a few days before the war starts officially. Tomorrow, I wanted to go into town and scout out locations. We should take advantage of the time we have and see where you think you’d do best in a fight.” Lancer responded with an attentive nod, listening carefully.  
  
    ”Then I will follow you in spirit form and-“  
  
    ”…About that.” Waver almost hesitated to interrupt, if only because doing so seemed to make Lancer look as though he thought he’d committed some grave error in judgment. “It’ll be easier to talk to you normally if you stay manifested like this. It’s kind of a risk, maybe, but I think it’s probably better if we both just go around normally for now. As long as neither of the Mackenzies see you, I mean, that’d take a lot of explaining…plus we’ll need to find you something normal to wear…Lancer?”  
  
The calm confidence his Servant had seemed to personify faded as Waver talked, even as he’d trailed off into musing under his breath.  There was a strange expression to the knight’s face, as though waiting for his place to respond.  
  
    ”Oh…er, forgive me for saying so, but I do not think that a particularly wise course of action. If I am to materialize regularly, I fear that may pose a risk to our chances in this war.”  
  
It was the most he’d said since his summoning, and though Lancer had finally spoken clearly, Waver only found himself confused. Sure, a Servant was easier to detect if they weren’t in spirit form, but he seemed to be overreacting if that was the only concern. So then, was there something more to which Waver was unaware?  
  
    ”What’re you talking about?” The only way to find out was to ask, apparently. “It’ll be easier for an enemy to detect you, but nobody’s stupid enough to have their Servant attack in broad daylight.”  
  
    ”That is not the complication I had in mind, Master.” Waver idly noted he was surprisingly eloquent, as far as his idea of a warrior went. Not to mention his tone was patient and calm, a contrast to the impatience Waver was already feeling. Just say what you’re getting at and speak plainly, idiot. It seemed his Servant was treating whatever the issue at hand was as a delicate matter and leading up to it cautiously. “There is a slight problem that presents itself if I am to be around ordinary humans.”  
  
    ”If there’s a problem, just say so already.” Waver huffed, crossing his arms indignantly. For someone who spoke so little, Lancer seemed to have a problem getting to the point. But once he did, it was with a statement that threw Waver for something of a loop.  
  
    ”I shouldn’t allow myself to be seen by any women.”  
  
What? What kind of asinine, ridiculous…no, Lancer looked completely serious. (Not that he hadn’t looked serious so far, Waver thought as an aside.) This seemed patently insane on the surface, but there must have been more to it.  
  
    ”Why? Don’t tell me you’ll turn them to stone or something.” His Servant appeared to almost shrink back at Waver’s sarcasm, as though there was some deep shame to any level of admonishing words. Maybe he did take everything as seriously as his demeanor would suggest. Whatever the reason, Waver was left with the odd impression he’d kicked the metaphorical puppy.  
  
    ”It is no such thing as extreme as that, Master.  You see, it…I have had a curse laid upon me for as long as I can recall. Any woman who looks at my face is bound to fall in love with me.”  
  
    ” _What._ ”  
  
That was the point where the young Master sincerely hoped his Servant had suddenly pulled a sense of humor out of that spaulder he was wearing. But no, Lancer remained serious as ever. This had to be a joke, right. Charm magic? You’ve got to be kidding me…  
  
But Waver sighed after a moment’s thought; no, Lancer didn’t seem like he’d make that up. And it certainly wasn’t arrogant hyperbole. If anything he seemed regretful about the concept. Looking at him carefully, Waver was able to detect an unusual fluctuation in magical energy—subtle, like one would expect from charm magic. Most of it seemed centered around a previously unnoticed birthmark under his Servant’s right eye. Well, at least their first problem seemed straightforward.  
  
    ”Can’t you just cover it up?” Waver finally asked, in a tone suggesting that was the obvious solution.  
      
    ”…I’m sorry?” Lancer seemed as though the concept came utterly out of left field, or at least that he hadn’t expected that reply.  
  
    ”This curse, it’s got something to do with that mark. Doesn’t it?” Lancer nodded in response, so Waver continued. “What happens if you just cover it?”  
  
Lancer opened his mouth to answer.  
  
…Closed it.  
  
Opened it again with a vaguely objecting wave of his hand.  
  
But he didn’t reply, and his Master couldn’t help but think he’d gotten a very eloquent Servant with very little common sense.  
  
    ”D…divine magic can not merely be _covered up_ , surely—”  
  
    ”Have you ever _tried?_ ”  
  
Silence. Lancer’s steady and calm gaze had changed to that of one very well aware they had likely done something very, very stupid.  
  
    ”I…er, I have not, Master.” Sighing heavily, Waver started to rummage through his desk drawers.  
  
    ”As long as we’re careful, it might not be a problem.” This wasn’t the kind of trouble he’d expected from the Holy Grail War by a longshot, but it was far easier to deal with. Rummaging through desk drawers earned a puzzled look from the nearby Servant, and that turned to outright surprise as a small object was tossed in his direction. He caught it all the same, moving swiftly and with the precise reflexes of one constantly prepared for combat.  
  
    ”What is this for?” Lancer asked, turning the object over in his hand before holding it up to examine it closely—a pair of sunglasses. That was Waver’s best defense against the information given to him. “Some…sort of blindfold?”  
  
Completely clueless. Didn’t the Grail compensate for information of the modern age?! Waver gave a long-suffering sigh, answering in an irritated voice.  
  
    ”Don’t be stupid, they’re not anything like that. Look, they’re not opaque or anything.” Seemingly put on edge by Waver’s tone, the knight instead looked over the glasses again without a word. “…If we can stop anyone looking at your face directly, then you won’t have a problem with walking around normally. Right?”  
  
    ”Ah—y-yes, Master. That was my only objection.”  
  
    ”Then you can wear those and something other than that armor.” Waver concluded, crossing his arms and nodding in satisfaction. “Problem solved, unless there’s anything else I should know.”  
  
How much stranger could it get in one night? Maybe Lancer literally attracted women like a living magnet on top of this curse of his. But his Servant brought up no such ability, simply shaking his head and carefully unfolding the sunglasses as though he feared they might break.  
  
    ”….Geez. You’re not really what I’d expect from a Servant, y’know.” A casual remark, said mostly under Waver’s breath. He hadn’t meant anything by it, surely nothing that would cause Lancer to look like he’d just been punched in the face. It was a strange reaction from a strange Servant in a strange situation. Waver had a sinking feeling Lancer was just as uneasy as the newly minted Master was.  
  
    ”I…apologize, my lord. If I have already done something wrong or spoken carelessly, I—”  
  
    ”Hey, hey, wait a minute!” Waver gestured frantically with both hands, verbally and almost physically stumbling to find solid ground here. Lancer looked like he was about to start that overly formal kneeling act again, and what was with the ‘my lord’ thing? “Quit apologizing, you didn’t even do anything!”  
  
    ”But did you not just say I do not meet your expectations of a Servant? If that is the case, it stands to reason that I have made some kind of misstep already, or perhaps upset you in some way.” They were obviously nowhere near being on the same page. Were they even reading the same book? Lancer spoke softly and remained still as death, while his Master’s voice and motions had only become more flustered and animated by the second.  
  
    ”I didn’t mean it like _that_ , idiot! I-I mean….Servants are supposed to be warlords and knights and kings and…y-you know, great and powerful heroes! I was just t-trying to say…!” Waver paused for breath, making a vague noise of frustration as he pressed one hand to his own forehead.  “I wouldn’t really expect a hero to be so… _deferential._ ” Maybe that was what struck him as so odd since Lancer’s summoning. Heroes of most stories were prideful and strong, even arrogant. Lancer seemed proud, sure. And he was probably powerful as far as combat went. But…the ideal ‘hero’ by definition didn’t seem to fit this Servant before him. “You haven’t raised a single objection or even _said_ much of anything until now, you haven’t even asked my name! I mean…you’re really _okay_ with all this? With…with me being your Master?”  
  
Even if he was a Master by right, who was Waver Velvet to command a legend? A heroic spirit should have been paired with a powerful magus, someone who could fight beside and support their Servant with magecraft. A single outcast student with barely any Magic Crest to speak of surely had no right to try, Command Spells or not.  
  
    ”Of course.” Lancer spoke as though reminding someone the sky was blue. Waver looked up at the armored knight before him; shockingly, there was a notable change in his demeanor for the first time. Lancer wore a serene and honest smile as he answered,  the glasses Waver had given him held in one hand like a sacred talisman. “It is no concern of mine what one’s reasoning or desire in this war may be. Neither is it my right to pass judgment upon them. Wherever that magus should originate, whatever reason they hold for pursuing the Grail…I find it theirs alone and not anything a Servant has right to judge or inquire about.”  
  
It was a lot of words for ‘I mind my own business and let other people mind theirs.’ Waver must have had a look of openmouthed shock on his face in response to something so _unbelievably simple_ , because Lancer continued patiently.  
  
    ”It is not a Servant who chooses his Master. No matter whose call I answered, the one who I appeared before would be my Master and that is all there is to it. But once that call is made and responded to, I will give all I have in service to that summoner. Asking me if I accept you as my Master is no different than asking you if you accept breathing in order to live. Whether one likes it or not, we are inextricably bound until the end of this Holy Grail War, however it may come.”  
  
He really was eloquent, Waver would note once his mind regained use of conscious thought. Whoever this Lancer was, he was excellent with words. But it was absurd, ridiculous, and more than a little insane. Did he really accept this so easily? Lancer had a Master at least a foot shorter than him that obviously had no earthly idea what he was doing, so _how could he be okay with that?!_ It was nearly impossible for Waver to even comprehend, and yet Lancer stood there with that infuriatingly honest smile. Like he was _happy_ to have a five-foot-failure as a Master.  
  
    ”I…You…That’s…” He suddenly felt very stupid, being unable to piece together a sentence next to his Servant’s quietly elegant words. The smile faded just a little, as though something occurred to Lancer as his Master scrambled to speak.  
  
    ”Oh…I would like to correct you on something you said earlier, if that is acceptable.” He looked at Waver expectantly as though actually waiting for permission to continue. The completely baffled Master simply nodded, as words remained a little too complex at the moment. Had he known the layer of gravity about to be woven into eight simple words, he might have asked his Servant to drop the subject entirely. But he was satisfied with that small gesture, and it was then Lancer said what had to have been the most absurd thing of all:  
  
    ”Deferential or not, I am not a hero.”


	3. In A Foreign Town

    Not a hero? _Not a hero?!_ Lancer’s statement ate away at his Master’s thoughts all night and into the next morning. He hadn’t said anything or asked what the knight meant by those words. Of course he’d waited to hear an explanation, green eyes inquisitive, but there was an air of finality to Lancer’s demeanor that made him think better of outright questioning it. Still, how was that possible? There was no way a Servant could exist that wasn’t some kind of hero; that was why they were called _heroic_ spirits! Waver kept turning Lancer’s words over and over in his mind, analyzing them from every angle he could think to approach. It hadn’t sounded like humility—there had been a clear conviction to the Servant’s words as he spoke, the tone of one who believed his words to be fact. He seemed too honest to have been lying…no, Lancer didn’t seem the type to lie at all if Waver thought about it. So the only feasible conclusions were A) he really wasn’t a hero in whatever legend he came from or B) he thought he wasn’t. There was a small measure of peace of mind in the latter option, at least on Waver’s side. He was surely someone of note, but could his Servant really have such a low opinion of himself?  
  
    The more time he spent with Lancer, the stranger he seemed. ‘Curiouser and curiouser’, as the phrase went. Walking through Fuyuki was an experience for both of them, Waver having never been in or near Japan before in his life. But it was just another large city; there was nothing mindblowing about it. He took careful mental note of the terrain, the layout, and anything that might serve as an advantage for them or their enemies. Every so often Waver would stop and look down at the notepad he was carrying, making some written remark about one landmark or another. Lancer would stop beside him each time, quiet and attentive as though awaiting orders. Whenever they started walking again, the Servant in a dark-colored coat and scarf would look around in utter fascination and almost childish curiosity. It left Waver wondering two things: how much did the Grail supply in terms of information, and could someone like this really fight? He looked like he could hold his own in battle. Yet all their interaction so far had painted the Servant he’d summoned as gentle and thoughtful…not really the kind of battle-hardened warrior a typical Master might hope for. Then again, Waver reminded himself for what must have been the hundredth time, he was leagues below ‘typical Master’. If his Servant couldn’t compensate for that somehow, they were both in a world of trouble.  
  
    Minor problems already seemed to be plaguing Waver’s efforts in the war. There was Lancer…being Lancer. Then there was the apparent curse on his Servant’s face. Now it was a street sign. Waver stared intently at it, eyes going line by line and squinting slightly as though that would make the characters on it clearer. Of course he’d studied before coming to Japan, but his understanding of the language stopped somewhere in the vicinity of ‘fluent enough’. Reading it was a little more difficult than speaking, and that was the problem the young student ran into now.  
  
    “Is there something wrong?” For all his obvious curiosity, Lancer had remained quiet until then.   
  
    “Of course not!” Waver countered defensively, waving his hands as though Lancer’s question was an offending haze in the air. “Everything’s fine, just fine!”  
  
…Waver Velvet was never good at dealing with being embarrassed. He paused after that outburst, weighing his options. If he didn’t admit to Lancer he could barely read the sign and acted like he could, they’d probably get lost. That was risky, especially if they didn’t know where in Fuyuki they were when night fell.   
  
So it boiled down to Waver’s pride versus their lives.  
  
…Tough call.  
  
    “…It’s just…I’m kind of…” Lancer seemed confused by Waver’s outburst and hesitation before something visibly clicked in his head. Waver felt a strange sense of dread as he was certain the Servant would pinpoint the issue and call him out on it. But Lancer said nothing at first; he leaned forward and lowered the sunglasses he wore, carefully looking over black frames at the sign in front of them.  
  
    “The shopping district is half a mile west from where we are now. In the opposite direction is a river that seems not to be far from here.” He spoke clearly, and yet took Waver completely off guard.  
  
    “W-wait, you can read Japanese?!” He couldn’t seem to decide if he was impressed, annoyed, or embarrassed.  
  
    “You summoned me in Japan.” Lancer’s response was as plain as saying ‘water is wet’.  
  
    “Why didn’t you _say something?_ We’ve been speaking plain English this whole time, how was I supposed to kn-…” That was something a Master should have known, he realized. Actually, hadn’t that been some of the most basic information? A Servant would be able to speak his summoner’s language and that of the land they were summoned in. Otherwise the entire Holy Grail War would have to involve an elaborate game of charades. Entertaining as that may have been to an observer, it wasn’t very practical. “N-never mind!” He waved his hands again, this time less dismissive and more defensive. “I don’t exactly have a compass on me, so which way is west?”  
  
Remarkably, Lancer did little more than glance skyward before pointing off to his left.  
  
    “…Are you sure?” That seemed too easy.  
  
    “Of course, Master. I have a very good sense of direction…oh, wait. I think I’ve made a small mistake.”  
  
So it wasn’t that simple. Waver just knew there had to be some complication, crossing his arms and waiting for the Servant to correct himself.  
  
    “….The river’s actually quite a distance from here.”   
  
    “What.” What happened to figuring out which way to go? he thought. But now it was Lancer’s turn to look embarrassed, giving his Master a measure of satisfaction that he wasn’t alone in that much. “Did you read it wrong?”  
  
    “No, I did not—that is the issue, the name seems to be written as ‘not distant river.’”  
  
    ….Waver hesitated to call him ‘idiot’ this time. He was busy trying not to be amused that Lancer had turned faintly red at his own mistake.  
  
    “Come on. Just be more careful next time.”  
  
His directions were at least correct, Waver thought as they left the shopping district in the late afternoon. It was going to be a pain to ask his Servant to translate things like that, but on the other hand? Lancer hadn’t called attention to Waver being ill-prepared or even remarked on the matter at all. He’d politely overlooked his Master’s shortcoming and compensated for it before even being asked. Lancer was considerate, kind, thoughtful, deferential, and apparently not a hero.  
  
It was hard to say if he was pleased at having such an agreeable Servant or terrified that someone like that would never survive a fight.  
  
    “…Your sense of direction’s pretty good.” Waver remarked, awkwardly trying to lead into a conversation. He needed to figure out how this Servant defying reason worked and to at least try to understand what on earth went on in his head.  
  
    “Thank you, Master.” Even that small amount of praise was met with a smile, but Lancer said almost nothing.   
  
_So much for conversation…maybe I should try again._  
  
    “You’re a Lancer, so…your specialty’s mostly in speed, right?” The class of Lancer, he’d read back in the Clock Tower, was supposedly the ‘most agile’ of the seven. They were lacking in pure destructive power to compensate, but it sounded like an efficient class. Finishing battles quickly meant a conservation of prana, and with someone like Waver that was probably going to end up being important.  
  
    “That is correct. I am confident that my agility is without parallel.” Waver actually stopped in his tracks, turning halfway to look at Lancer in disbelief. That must have been the first time he’d said something unquestionably positive instead of merely neutral, and it was even about himself. That was progress if ever Waver had seen it. “Master? What’s-“  
  
    “Tell me what else you can do.” the student cut him off with a note of urgency, as though he feared the moment would pass and Lancer would return to short and unhelpful answers. “Anything you think’s relevant. Direction, strategy, I don’t care if you say you can bake a cake, just _talk_ for a change.”  
  
Lancer actually stumbled over his words for the first time since Waver had summoned him, stammering awkwardly for a moment or two.   
  
    “I…e-er, I…suppose I am an accomplished strategist, and I’ve certainly never gotten myself lost.” Lancer didn’t really seem to understand why Waver was asking, and honestly Waver himself had almost no idea. But he was satisfied with that, the student turning back and starting to walk once more.  
  
    “Listen, from now on if you want to say something just _say it_. You don’t need my express permission just to talk. And if you can do something that’ll help in some situation, do it or at least tell me you can do it.” This wasn’t anything that should have needed to be stated, as far as Waver was concerned. But a complicated Servant apparently required spelling things out clearly.  
  
    “Understood, Master.” As frustratingly professional as ever.   
  
    “And quit it with that. If we’re not around anyone that could be an enemy, just call me Waver. Enough with the whole ‘Master’ thing, and don’t call me ‘my lord’ again. Get it?” Actually sighing at that, Lancer adjusted the sunglasses he wore as though it was the start of an awkward habit.  
  
    “I will try to remember that, M-…W-Waver.”  
  
    “Good. Now you said you were a good strategist, so tell me what we should do.”  
  
    “What.” Lancer’s flatly stated disbelief sounded oddly familiar to Waver somehow.  
  
    “You heard me, didn’t you?! Geez, I don’t want to keep repeating myself, so tell me where you’d be looking for a tactical advantage if you were any of the other six classes!” Lancer paused for a long moment, raising a hand to his face and taking on a look of deep concentration.  
  
    “A Saber-class would want an open space. Swords and lances are unwieldy in closed areas, particularly when seeking speed and accuracy. Archer…somewhere high, certainly. Rooftops, trees, anywhere with a clear view of the surrounding area. A Rider would want something open like Saber would. But where the latter would do well in a field, I imagine a Rider might seek a strip of land or road. Possibly the river, if their Noble Phantasm should be a ship.”  
  
Waver nodded attentively; that all seemed to make sense. He seemed like a passable strategist after all, or at the very least he was clever.  
  
    “What about the other three?” That seemed to be more of a problem. It was a minute or two before Lancer spoke again.  
  
    “Assassin would want rougher terrain…either an area of closely-placed buildings within the city or somewhere else with a number of places to conceal themselves. Caster might want something similar. I would venture a guess they would want a place to hide and cast their magecraft uninterrupted. More so if they are not skilled at hand to hand combat.”  
  
Waver thought this over; as he did there were several things that escaped his notice. He was no idiot—in fact despite what magi would say about bloodline and potential it was likely Waver was one of the brightest students in the Clock Tower. But he focused on the details and the finer what-ifs when it came to matters of strategy. Oftentimes he failed to see the larger picture of things, and this was one such time. As they had been speaking and walking through Fuyuki, late afternoon had turned to early evening. And as Lancer carefully answered his Master’s inquiry, early evening had shifted to night. Lancer had thought little of it, but if Waver had noticed he might have been in a panic. The Holy Grail War was to be waged in secrecy, under cover of darkness and away from the sight of those without magic. It could likely be said this was a war only fought outside daylight hours.  
  
    “So that just leaves Berserker. What do you think abo—…Lancer?” Waver stopped walking upon realizing his Servant had done the same. His stance was rigid and stable, gaze having drifted off to the side.  
  
    “Something’s wrong.” The sudden onset of calm severity startled his Master, and as Lancer took off his sunglasses Waver realized there was something as hard as steel in golden eyes. “We miscalculated in walking through here.”  
  
    “Wh…wha…” A chill went down Waver’s spine. If he focused enough…yes, that must have been what Lancer was sensing. Faint, but there was magical energy in the air around them—a bounded field set so that which went on where they now stood wouldn’t be detected by ordinary people. Quickly, Waver spun around to try and determine where the source was as he stumbled back to stand closer to Lancer. They’d wandered too close to Fuyuki’s outskirts in trying to get home…inwardly he cursed Lancer’s sense of direction— _Of course he wouldn’t tell me I was going the wrong way, **I didn’t ask!**_ —as well as his own failing in remembering just what space logic his Servant operated on. “We need to get out of here. Lancer, I—”  
  
    “ _Waver Velvet._ ” The voice that cut him off was dripping with arrogance and contempt, projected through magic with neither visible source nor means to pinpoint it. Until that moment, Waver didn’t know it was physically possible for one to actually feel the blood drain out of their face. “I suspected you had a hand in the fate of my relic that _mysteriously_ never arrived, but to think a spineless commoner would actually have gone this far…” No, it was more than contempt. There was barely-composed rage and profound hatred in the voice that echoed through the cold night air. _Spineless commoner…?!_ Waver’s thoughts retaliated as viciously as he wished his voice could. _You’re wrong. You’re wrong, you’ve always been wrong about me. I’ll show you, I’ll show **everyone** what I’m really capable of!_  
  
Yet faced with the hatred and confidence of his own teacher, Waver could only show absolute fear. His legs shook as though they threatened to give out beneath him. Kayneth was an expert. Nobility among magi, one of the most respected in the Clock Tower…were the two of them to be measured in magical capacity alone, the teenage Master was barely even an insect. Maybe even less. Dread was overtaking him as he realized that in this battle to the death between magi, there would be no contest between the two of them.  
  
“It can’t be helped,” Kayneth continued from his unseen position, speaking in a way that almost sounded as though he might enjoy this, “this will have to be my final lesson to you. Let me show you what kind of suffering a war of magecraft brings to the _underqualified_.”  
  
 _I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m actually going to die here and he’ll have been right all along._ To be a magus was to be prepared to die or to kill at any given moment. That life was the definition of ‘survival of the fittest’, and in that moment as his legs refused to support him and he fell to his knees, the nauseated and terrified student finally understood what until now had been only a distant theory presented as something that existed well outside classes and studying.  
  
    “Be quiet.”  
  
It may as well have been a thousand miles away for how well Waver was listening, but he heard a second voice loaded with cold frustration. At the same time, he felt a hand on his shoulder in a firm but reassuring touch. Yes, upon looking up he realised he hadn’t been mistaken: Lancer was the one to give their enemy such an order in a harsh tone. Yet at the same time his voice came through the spiritual link between Master and Servant, in the same matter of fact tones he’d been speaking in all day.  
  
 _Don’t be afraid,_ he said on a level that was far more clear than anything verbal. _As long as I still have strength enough to move, there is no enemy that can touch you._  
  
Green eyes blinked slowly in disbelief. Waver had just outright _proven_ to Lancer that Kayneth was right and that he was completely spineless. Yet even faced with knowing the student couldn’t even stand up against one threat, he still remained unquestioningly at his Master’s side. Before he could voice an objection, Lancer spoke again—and what he said caused Waver’s mouth to fall open in shock.  
  
    “It is remarkable, how this world has changed. Even shadows can speak and think themselves worth notice now.” The knight’s demeanor and voice had changed into something utterly foreign: he stood casually for once, openly mocking Kayneth with a prideful and wicked smirk. “For surely none who calls themselves superior would hide within the dark like a _coward_ , would they?”  
  
The distinguished level of composure the lecturer spoke with slipped, and Kayneth’s anger presented itself as more of an outright snarl now.  
  
    “You _insolent_ —! I have no reason to listen to criticism from a _worthless Servant!_ ”  
  
Lancer shrugged dismissively, the picture of one who believed the words spoken to him as being of no consequence.  
  
    “I care very little for a shadow’s opinion of me. Now unless you’ve something of actual substance to remark upon-” A sudden rush of prana in the air turned his casual clothes into his black and green armor. Outstretching his hands just slightly, the air on either side of the confident Servant seemed to twist and form into a distinct shape, arranging itself into a solid object.  “-I suggest we get started.”  
  
Hold on, Waver realized, it wasn’t just one. There were two lances in his Servant’s hands, one long scarlet spear and one shorter golden one. Was it really possible anyone, even a Lancer, could fight balancing two weapons? Which one was his Noble Phantasm? And most importantly, how were they ever going to get out of this alive? Before him Lancer stood tall and confident without the smallest hint of backing down no matter what he was faced with. There was no fear in his expression, but purely anticipation and even excitement. Maybe Waver had been wrong to doubt him, and maybe Lancer was right…he might not have had anything to fear after all.  
  
The uncertain master of Lancer remained cautiously optimistic right until the moment the road before them exploded in a roaring black fury.


	4. Rabble-Rousers

    It arrived with a sound of crashing thunder, cracking and tearing the ground beneath itself. A near-formless mass coated in thick black fog, when the thing at last stood straight it only vaguely resembled anything humanoid. All that Waver could determine was that this was another Servant…everything else about it was obscured, and that lack of knowledge terrified him. The creature bent back with an unearthly howl, and in response Lancer did nothing more than shift into a fighting stance.  
  
    ”What would you have me do, Master?”  
  
    ”Wha—” Against this monster that could be none other than Berserker, his Lancer stood with the appearance of a predator anticipating the first strike. But even now he waited; if Waver had told him to retreat, without question he would back down and they would escape.  
  
But that wasn’t going to do them any good here. In this situation, ‘live to fight another day’ would only prove Kayneth right.  Waver came to realize he was at last on equal ground with his hated teacher, and running away to hide would accomplish nothing. Standing straight and with a hardened determination in green eyes, Waver knew this was his chance to repay the unquestioning faith Lancer had in him.  
  
    ”…Take him down, Lancer.”  
  
The words had scarcely left his mouth when his Servant moved, kicking off against the ground and flying forward with speed that would put the western wind to shame. The roaring mass of black smoke moved and twisted, striking at Lancer with what must either have been hands or claws. Every attack the creature mounted was met only with open air where Lancer had been standing less than a second before; his Servant was almost literally running circles around their enemy. Was he just playing around, or…   
  
Waver stood amazed as he watched and a realization came to him: Lancer was testing Berserker’s speed. Standing still just long enough for the monster in black armor (it _was_ armor, on a closer look) to aim and attack, then immediately taking off again the moment his enemy moved. ‘Risky’ didn’t even begin to cover it, and yet even as he gambled with his life for a better understanding of his opponent, Lancer showed nothing but excitement. He had been wrong to think a kind disposition marked his Servant as weak. This Lancer that now moved around the mad Berserker as swiftly as water was so far removed from the one he’d been speaking to that it was nearly frightening.  
  
    ”You’re fast, for a rabid dog.” Lancer remarked as though he was impressed, leaping backwards and out of range. “But I think I have a good idea of just how fast. Sorry, but I’m afraid you just can’t keep up.” With a shrieking roar, the black knight charged forward in answer to his enemy’s taunt. At first, Waver feared Lancer had made a mistake—for an agonizing fraction of a second the smaller knight didn’t move at all. But as Berserker drew closer, Lancer’s face twisted into a near-devilish smirk that screamed I have you now. No ordinary human could even have perceived just what happened in that second, and it took Waver a moment to figure it out himself.  
  
As the fog-cloaked monster came bearing down on Lancer like impending death itself, he waited—then the scarlet lance flashed as its owner moved. The smoke around him seemed to dissipate only long enough for Waver to register it had flickered at all. Berserker seemed to stumble, faltering and crashing headlong into a tree to reduce it to splinters as Lancer’s motion carried him to the side and out of harm’s way.  
  
    ”Hm. So that miserable little raincloud of yours is magical after all.” Lancer spoke mostly to himself, organizing his thoughts even in the middle of battle. “Quite a clever way to obscure your true name, but you can’t hide from my lance.” Berserker stood again, and Waver could have sworn he saw a thin trail of blood as the other Servant moved. Had Lancer actually landed a hit on him? How could he, given all the armor they had seen only for a single moment? There was no time for either of them to think further on it; in a moment Berserker had taken hold of a thick fragment of the broken tree around him. Corruption spread across it like a plague, turning the wood black as charcoal with twisting veins of burning red. What was he doing, there was no way he was seriously going to take on a Servant with a broken tree trunk—  
  
    ”Lancer-!” Half a second too late Waver had seen that at Berserker’s touch the wood was infused with magical energy. Berserker’s own prana comprised of hate and bloodthirst had overtaken it, turning a simple object into something far worse. But at the same moment Waver called out an attempted warning, the jagged wood had been thrown one-handed like a javelin. Lancer barely had time enough to register shock before being put on the defensive, forced to dodge a little less gracefully than his earlier movements. Blood splattered to the ground from the deep cut in the knight’s arm, but that was all the damage he’d taken. It could have been worse, and as Berserker picked up a thicker chunk of the broken tree and charged again, both Master and Servant were left confused and hurriedly recalculating.   
  
    What kind of ability was that for a Berserker to have?! It was one thing to use whatever was lying around as a weapon. But there was no way any random junk lying around could damage a Servant! They were made to be stranger than that, and Waver scrambled for answers as to just how he’d managed that. Could a Berserker use magecraft to the point of infusing objects with his own prana? What kind of half-crazed, half-brilliant monster was this?! Though Waver was terrified, Lancer was undeterred and met Berserker head-on in a moment. That was suicide, wasn’t it?! Holding his breath in anticipation and fear, Waver could only watch as the crimson lance’s blade met the mad knight’s makeshift weapon…  
  
…and splintered it to pieces. The corruption of black and red had been stripped away on contact, and a Noble Phantasm against a tree was like one breaking a matchstick with their hands. How did Lancer manage to counter the black knight’s offense this time? Waver didn’t understand, but his Servant seemed pleased with the result. In an immediate second strike, he swung the golden lance at Berserker’s arm with intent to take the entire thing or at least damage the black armor.  
  
Clang! His blade barely grazed Berserker before being deflected not by the monster himself, but by another source entirely. A sword had flown from the sky like a silver meteorite, with perfect accuracy parrying Lancer’s blade and landing between the two Servants. Lancer backed off immediately under this new assault, retreating with the priority of guarding his Master. However, Berserker remained where he stood…disturbingly quiet, as though waiting for someone to dare challenge him.  
  
    ”It would seem I’ve an infestation of _rats_ in my garden.” Unlike Kayneth’s voice from earlier, this one was clear and easy to trace. Atop the tallest tree in the direction from which the attack had come stood a golden silhouette lined in silver moonlight. His stance held pride to an extreme degree, his voice laden with immeasurable arrogance and superiority. Crimson eyes cut through the night with more sharpness than any blade, looking from Berserker to Lancer and back again. “Who are you to intrude upon the king’s territory with your petty skirmishes? Such a pathetic display is not even worthy of this useless war, never mind my own attention.”  
  
Silence. Even Kayneth seemed too dumbstruck to speak in response to this new arrival. The golden Servant crossed his arms, haughty and cold as though he awaited an excuse for why anyone was fighting here.  
  
    ”His Master’s base of operations might be nearby.” Lancer murmured under his breath, thinking out loud. That almost made sense to Waver, but even if that was so it seemed unlikely any Servant would interrupt a fight over a matter amounting to ‘get off my lawn’.  
  
    ”Well?!” the gold-armored blonde snarled, “Have any of you a fitting reason for disturbing a king’s evening and calling me out here, or should I disregard your pleas for mercy and skip to the executi—”  
  
Pulled from the ground in which it was embedded, a black-coated sword flew back in its owner’s direction at blinding speed. Of all those present to tire of the newcomer first, it was Berserker who struck back with a bestial roar. The sword struck deep into the tree upon which the gilded Servant once stood: without so much as uncrossing his arms he had leapt from one perch to another more than thirty feet away.  
  
    ”You rabid mongrel…you think yourself to have the right to _my_ treasures?” The golden swordsman’s voice dropped to a low, smooth threat, not unlike the hissing of a serpent. As he spoke, a woman in white emerged from the forest nearby. She was out of breath, as though she’d struggled to keep up with what was presumably her Servant for some distance. She looked from Lancer and Waver to Berserker and then up at the scowling blond, long white hair whipping around as she tried to bring herself up to speed on the situation.   
  
    ”Archer, please-!” Her exasperated cry to her Servant remarkably caused him to pause in his enraged tirade. Though disgust blazed in his eyes, he regarded the woman as though her request was an inconsequential matter and he was debating whether it was worth the minimal effort to grant.  
  
     _Master_ , Lancer finally spoke through their spirit link, focused entirely on the scene that unfolded before them. _I would dare to suggest we find ourselves outmatched, and I would have no objection were you to command a tactical retreat before—_  
  
    If he was about to say ‘before Archer does something ridiculous’, it was too late for that. The air around Archer seemed to glow as golden as the rest of his armor, at least a dozen blades sliding through some kind of portal behind him. There was barely time for Waver to comprehend the impossible—every single one of those is a Noble Phantasm—before everything exploded in a flurry of motion. The swords flew forward without Archer raising so much as a finger, crashing into the ground around Berserker and raising a choking cloud of dust and debris. In the very same second, without warning Lancer put an arm around his Master’s waist and practically flew back to keep them both out of striking range. Within the dust cloud raised by Archer’s ongoing attack, there came the sound of metal striking metal countless times. Broken and damanged swords flew in every direction, though the reason wasn’t yet clear.  
  
    ”That’s not possible…” a shocked Lancer spoke under his breath. Half a second from questioning it, the teenage magus realized the same thing. Through the dust was a torrent of silver, a swirling storm of…of something impossible. A single sword corrupted and twisted in Berserker’s grasp, swung with each of Archer’s strikes to deflect and parry. As if the mad knight exerted no real effort at all or Archer was some kind of hack with aiming, not a single thrown sword struck its target.  
  
    ”Th-there’s no way that’s a Berserker…” Waver muttered in response. Shocked as he was at the impossibility, he had to wonder just what Kayneth was thinking: was he aware he had no control over his own mad Servant, or was he pressing his luck where he thought there was an advantage? It was probably smarter to stay quiet in a situation like this, especially when his Servant was likely too insane to listen properly. Green eyes drifted to his own right hand…Kayneth could waste a Command Spell if withdrawing was necessary, but if Lancer was right then maybe Berserker had an advantage over Archer after all. Quickly, Waver refocused on his Servant. “Lancer—quick, tell me what we should do!”  
  
    ”What?” Disbelieving he’d actually heard that in the chaos of metal on metal, the knight actually dared to take his eyes off the fight and look down at his diminuitive lord in shock. “I—why are you asking me—?!”  
  
    ”You said you were a strategist!”  
  
    ”I can’t just tell you what to—” Though he was completely aghast at the idea, Lancer had no time to piece together an argument before a frustrated Waver’s outburst cut him off.  
  
    ”I’m _ordering_ you to tell me what to do, idiot!” The knight faltered at that, quickly glancing from Archer’s assault on Berserker to the area around them.  
  
    ”In that case, I fear us outmatched. We should leave before—”  
  
The last few swords in Archer’s assault buried themselves in the ground less than a foot from where Waver was standing. In no less than a second Lancer had taken up his spear again, standing in front of the horrified teenager like a protective shield.  
  
    ”Don’t assume I’ve forgotten you trespassing vermin.” Crimson eyes focused on them from above, Waver vaguely aware he was shrinking back in terror. This was well beyond anything he could have prepared for, but…  
  
 _As long as I still have strength enough to move, there is no enemy that can touch you._  
  
There was no way Lancer could stand up to an existence like the gold Servant on high. Logic told him that much, but at the same time something else spoke differently. His words from before rang out in Waver’s mind, strong and reassuring. Although it was illogical to stand against power like this, within Waver’s heart was the beginning of a sense of trust unlike anything he could ever recall feeling before.  
  
    ”Lancer, while Berserker’s distracted you should fini—”  
  
    ”Archer.” The woman in white interrupted, leading Waver to think neither he nor his Servant might ever finish a sentence around here. She looked up at the golden swordsman, tone firm but patient. “Please, think about where we stand. Facing Lancer and Berserker at the same time, you ca-…” She hesitated, red eyes wandering as she searched for the right words to defuse the situation. “…It would…be a waste of your treasury?” For some reason, Waver almost felt sorry for the girl with such a difficult Servant. Her voice had ended in almost a questioning manner, and heavy silence fell as Archer regarded her and considered her words.   
  
    ”The rabid dog has already _defiled_ my treasury, Irisviel.” Contrary to the woman’s unsure words, Archer’s voice was dangerously low and quiet. But she didn’t back down, which to her credit was probably quite an accomplishment.  
  
    ”So why make it worse? We should withdraw and plan before continuing this fight.” Something seemed to occur to her, and the woman called Irisviel quickly followed up with: “If he’s committed such a grave offense, wouldn’t a grander stage be better to set an example?”  
  
Archer seemed a little more interested in that, if only in the near-imperceptible relaxing of shoulders and fading scowl. Maybe that was what passed for casual conversation with him.  
  
    ”Lancer.” Waver put a hand on his Servant’s arm, speaking in an undertone. The added let’s get out of here was unsaid, but understood. In no more than a second, Lancer quickly put an arm around his Master’s waist and used every bit of that inhuman speed to escape before things took another downward turn.  
  
    It had been a trying night already, Waver would later think to himself. This had been a harsh initial lesson on what kind of battlefield magi fought upon and what kind of place this Holy Grail War was. Later, the concept of just how difficult and trying this process could be would finally cross Waver Velvet’s mind. But at that moment, guided by his agile Servant and practically sailing through Fuyuki unseen…well, he was mostly just concerned with the height of the rooftops they were traveling between.


	5. Point Zero

“Does it hurt?”  
  
    “I’ve had worse.” Sighing, Waver quickly flipped through one of the many books at his side. Once they returned home, he’d realized Lancer’s arm was still injured from fighting Berserker, and he’d set himself to fixing it.  
  
Unfortunately, as many things in the Clock Tower constantly reminded him, Waver was no skilled magus. Healing magecraft was difficult for him even though it was part of the basics for most.  
  
    “Just…give me a couple minutes. I’ll figure this out.”   
  
Fortunately, Lancer didn’t complain. Waver might not have known what do do if he’d been seriously hurt; it occurred to him that maybe he should have looked this particular magecraft up beforehand. Green eyes scanned page after page as Lancer only watched in patient silence…eventually, however, he did dare to interrupt his Master’s thoughts.  
  
    “I should apologize. Here I had the perfect counter to Berserker’s offensive maneuvers, and still I was unable to finish him quickly. Truly, I fear I may have failed you.”  
  
It took a second for Waver to process what Lancer was saying; he was only half-listening as he read through healing techniques. Once his words finally did compute properly, Waver looked up in stark confusion.   
  
    “You call _that_ a failure?” The words were more blunt than he’d wanted them to be, but this was patently ridiculous. What kind of idiot was he talking to?  
  
    “An unfinished fight is a failure in itself. More so is the fact that I held the power to end it were I only capable enough.” His gaze was lowered to the floor, in deference more than shame. It seemed that Lancer had accepted his perceived mistake and was willing to accept condemnation for it.  
  
    “You’re an idiot. Hold still, I have to concentrate.” Waver held his hands over the cut on Lancer’s arm, and with the faint glow of prana it began to close itself back up. He couldn’t believe how backwards his Servant’s logic was. Anything less than some unattainable ideal of perfection was failure, was that it? Waver glanced from the healing wound to his Servant’s face; quiet resignation. it was obvious he was unhappy with the result, but that wasn’t right. Sure it wasn’t ideal, but they’d gained a lot more than they lost. Finally, Waver lowered his hands; there was no more than the faintest mark left now. Not bad compared to how much he could’ve screwed up. “How’s that?”  
  
    “I should be able to fight at full capacity. It was no more than a superficial wound in the first place.”  
  
    “…Tell me whether it hurts or not. How well you can fight with it can come second.” Lancer faltered at that, as though aware he’d misspoken somehow.  
  
    “It…doesn’t hurt, Master.”  
  
    “Good. Now tell me more about Berserker…you said you had the perfect counter. I saw what he did with his prana, so how did you stop that?” Lancer straightened up at that, his explanation coming in a patient voice careful to elaborate so his Master understood.  
  
    “My lances are cursed blades; one carries the ability to inflict unhealing wounds, but the other is exactly what can cancel a skill such as that. You see, when the blade comes in contact with a form of prana—in this case, Berserker’s own covering an object—it cancels it out. So that blade meeting with anything in his hands is bound to win every time, perhaps with the exception of Archer’s swords.”  
  
Lancer paused, seeming as though he wanted to ask a question of his own; with an expectant look from Waver, he continued.  
  
“…Do you not already know this?”  Now it was Waver’s turn to falter. Of course…if he’d planned to summon this Lancer he should have known all about his true name and identity. That must have been why he never stated it—Lancer assumed Waver already knew who he was. But since the relic used wasn’t one he’d sought out… “I see. I confess I had my doubts of one who would seek me out specifically…so you don’t know who I am.”  
  
There was no accusation in Lancer’s voice and no critical look in his eyes, but somehow Waver felt a deep sense of shame. Averting his eyes, Waver turned to close the book at his side; distracting himself rather than face Lancer directly. All that faith his Servant placed in him was worthless now; he’d trusted a thief only in the war for personal gain and revenge.  
  
    “Excellent.” That was not what he expected to hear. Turning around with his face twisted in confusion, Waver was met with an apparently content Lancer considering this. “If even you don’t know, that serves our purposes well—I confess I dislike the secrecy of class names, but if it is a necessity of the Holy Grail War then I will play along.”  
  
    “Wh…what’re you babbling about?! Aren’t you angry? I stole Kayneth’s relic just so I could summon a Servant and show him what I can do!” Waver snapped, throwing his hand forward and pointing at Lancer accusingly.   
  
    “What reason have I to be angry? Have you already forgotten my words? Your reason and desire to participate in this war is yours alone. I have no right or wish to pass judgement upon you or your methods. All that matters to me is fighting for my Master’s honor.”  
  
    He was ridiculous. He was really, really, _impossibly_ ridiculous. If Waver punched him in the face he’d apologize for hurting his Master’s hand.   
  
    “Don’t you have _any_ opinion that’s actually your own?! You don’t care what kind of person I am?!”  
  
    “No.” Lancer shook his head, speaking with finality. “You are my Master. As such I will follow you to hell and back if necessary. Now if you do not know my name, that serves us quite well—it will surely be more difficult for the other Masters to discern if even my own is uncertain. And there is no great technique or Noble Phantasm knowing my name would unlock, so it takes nothing away from us either.” Giving up on the larger problem for now, Waver pressed a hand to his face in exasperation and sighed heavily.  
  
    “Kayneth probably knows who you are.” Waver confessed, lowering his hand to his left pocket. “It was his relic to begin with, so he probably sought you out for some reason.”  
  
    “I doubt he’ll tell anyone; he seems not the type to relinquish an advantage. Even if he does know it, it does little to help Berserker’s chances.” Lancer shrugged his shoulders in a remarkably casual gesture for him, thinking further on the matter. “It’s just as well, I should think. I have the strangest feeling he and I would have trouble coexisti-…what is _that_.”   
  
    Waver had taken the relic used to summon Lancer from his pocket as the Servant spoke, causing his sentence to end in flat…alarm? The splintered object was small and light as ever, and Waver felt an ever stronger sense of disbelief it could have called the knight in front of him.  
  
    “This was what Kayneth was after. I ran into the delivery in the hallway and kind of…stole it. I didn’t know what it was—I mean, I still don’t, really. Can you tell me what it-…Lancer?”  
  
He hadn’t taken his eyes off the tiny shard in his Master’s hand. There was an almost undetectable measure of shock on his face, seen only in the smallest twitch of the corners of his mouth or the slightest widening of impossibly-colored eyes. Was it shock, or was there something else to it? it felt as though Lancer was thousands of miles and even years away at that moment, lost completely in his own thoughts.  
  
    “Lan….cer…?” The Servant blinked, coming back to reality and looking to his Master.  
  
    “It is a fragment of a boar’s tusk, Master. No more or less than that.” The small smile on his Servant’s face only unnerved Waver more; was that the look of someone trying to express that they were alright when they really weren’t at all? Waver had certainly seen that look in the mirror often enough to know it.  
  
    “…If I asked you who you were, would you tell me?” Waver’s question was met with a firm nod of confirmation. “Even if you say you’re not a hero and even if you think I’d look down on you for it?”  
  
    “I can not change who I am or what I have done. There is no regret in my heart that would lead me to truly conceal my name from you.”  
  
Waver wanted to know. It was driving him crazy, not knowing what kind of person Lancer really was. But there was no way he was a mass-murderer or something; he was too damned nice for that. And at the moment, strategy outweighed his own curiosity. In the silence that passed while Waver turned to stack books of magecraft on the shelf against the wall, he decided to drop the subject.  
  
    “Listen, you did really well today. Thanks—I mean, no one’s ever stuck up for me like that. And you fought like…it was amazing, Lancer, really amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He looked over his shoulder, seeing his companion’s demeanor visibly brighten at a few small words of praise. “So do me a favor and don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s only the first night.”  
  
    “Yes, Master. I will not fail to bring you victory.”


	6. The Golden King

" _Know your place!_ " A gold-armored fist slammed down on the table before the Servant, wood beginning to crack and splinter beneath the pressure. Of the three others in the room it was only Irisviel who raised a hand to her mouth in alarm; the woman in black stood rigid as a tin soldier against the wall, and the unkempt Master in a dark trenchcoat did no more than light a cigarette. "Who are you to disregard me, you worthless _wretch?!_ "  
  
"Maiya." Archer's Master took no notice of the blazing crimson eyes now fixated upon him, speaking only to the soldier standing at attention. "Berserker's ability is going to be a risk: we should focus on his Master first. Sending Archer after him is only going to be a risk."  
  
"Impudent _mongrel--!_ " Archer was at his own Master's throat in a second, grasping the other man's shirt collar and forcing him back against the wall. "I would have you executed for such disrespect! You dare insinuate a mere mad dog could be beyond my ability?!"  
  
Archer snarled in a manner not unlike an enraged canine himself while behind him, Maiya's hand moved slowly to a holster resting at her hip. Irisviel shook her head in response behind Archer's back, trying to dissuade her.  
  
"Anything that can counter Archer's Gate of Babylon is something we should eradicate at the source--Maiya, track down Kayneth's base of operations and report back when you find it." Even held off the ground by his own Servant, Archer's Master hadn't even lost a step in his train of thought.  
  
"Archer-" Irisviel stepped forward, gingerly placing a delicate hand on the Servant's free arm. "-Kiritsugu may have a point. It would be beneath you to deal with someone like Berserker, wouldn't it?" The irate crimson gaze was focused on her now, from over Archer's shoulder. "So you should let him take care of it with Maiya and concern yourself with those worth your concern."  
  
There was a tense moment of stillness in the room, during which Kiritsugu had to confess he was slightly impressed. Allowing Irisviel to handle Archer primarily had seemed...complicated, given who he was and the kind of personality that entailed. But it appeared she had learned how to speak with him to achieve the desired result quickly. Sure enough, the blond Servant lowered Kiritsugu to the ground none too gently and dematerialized his armor. Now in a loose white shirt and snakeskin pants, Archer crossed his arms and tilted his head, glaring down his nose at Kiritsugu.  
  
"In my infinite grace as king, I will allow you a second chance, Emiya Kiritsugu. But know that I will not tolerate your failure. If you return without having eradicated Berserker's Master, I may not be so kind again. Consider yourself and your pawn _dismissed._ " With a vague signal from Kiritsugu both he and Maiya were out the door.   
  
Irisviel von Einzbern watched the two of them leave, eyes slowly drifting to Archer who glared at the door as though to set it on fire through will alone. Kiritsugu had told her from the start this was going to be trying on their patience. On the night they had looked upon the fossilized snakeskin granted by the Einzbern patriarch, worry had settled into the shadows upon her husband's face. A relic beyond value was meant to summon a spirit beyond comprehension, one who stood higher than all others throughout history. Kiritsugu had known that individual would never be able to coexist with him (or anyone else, for that matter), and so he'd asked Irisviel to act in his stead. She carried the empathy and patience he never could, and even if she was not nearly as subservient to Archer as she acted it seemed to be enough.  
  
This hero would never stand for one who called themself his 'Master', for there were none alive that he even thought to call 'equal'. The Archer-class Servant that Irisviel now saw glaring at a doorway as though daring Kiritsugu to walk back in was no less than the first and the greatest hero to ever live, whose story thousands of others in ages since could trace back to in one form or another.  
  
"Do you think that you were too hard on him, Gilgamesh?"  
  
"No." Archer snapped in return, finally tearing his eyes off the door and crossing the room to a cabinet. "Were I to be 'too hard on him', you would be cleaning his blood from the walls and floor." His rage passed as suddenly as it had come, and as the King of Heroes rummaged through a cabinet throwing empty bottles over his shoulder he paused only to glance back at Irisviel smugly. "You would side with your precious husband, then?"  
  
"It's not that. I wish he would actually try not to provoke you like that, but he does--" She quickly sidestepped an empty wine bottle Gilgamesh discarded, narrowly avoiding having it strike her. "-...he does mean well. Kiritsugu isn't trying to get in your way."  
  
"If that should be so, I might dread to see what it looks like when he tries to obstruct me." Having found what he was looking for, Gilgamesh poured himself a glass of wine from the specific bottle he'd been after. (Irisviel had needed to buy some less than an hour after their arrival in Fuyuki, on Archer's demands.) "Or perhaps he should be the one dreading it."  
  
"You two really can't get along, then." she admitted with a regretful sag of her shoulders. "I was hoping you two would at least try to work together."  
  
"Hah! I've no reason to lower myself so far as to put forth effort in coexisting with a wretched fool like that." With no verbal offer made, Gilgamesh slid an empty glass a few inches in Irisviel's direction as he took a drink from his own. "...tch. This world has no taste for wine."  
  
"If I could ask, King of Heroes..." Irisviel half-filled the glass for herself; turning down what was an unprecedented offer on Archer's part would have been suicide. "...what is it you want from the Grail? Kiritsugu--he has a wish he would have granted. You two should have at least that in common."  
  
Gilgamesh stopped, wine glass half-raised to his mouth when Irisviel's question reached him. He slowly arched an eyebrow as if to wonder why one would ask such an obvious question, and then the first among heroes did something unbelievable. He set down his glass and began to laugh, shoulders shaking with the eager and unfitting sound of it. Whatever it was that had caused such a reaction from the golden king, he seemed genuinely amused by it. Holding her own glass delicately, Irisviel wasn't sure whether to be pleased or very, very unnerved.  
  
"I who possesses all the wealth of the world, have a wish for the Grail?" he finally responded with a devilish smile. "No...of course there is nothing I do not already call my own. To think there should be any worldly possession I still desire is truly laughable."  
  
"Then...why--"  
  
"It is as I say. This world is my domain and all within it belongs to me. That includes the Grail itself." The smile on his face grew predatory as he spoke, red eyes narrowed as though he was focused only on his ultimate goal and nothing else. "To see others proclaim war over that which belongs to the king of all the world is a grave insult. I will crush all those who lay claim to even the Holy Grail, and unlike the worthless masses I shall need nothing from it."  
  
Kiritsugu had known he would be a difficult Servant. But it was only then that Irisviel began to comprehend how difficult. There was something very dark behind that smile, something which could not be defined by the word 'insanity' and yet was nowhere within the realm of 'humanity'. The chill traveling up her spine heralded a warning of how truly twisted one had to be to wholeheartedly believe such logic.  
  
"Tell me then, Irisviel..." His tone was almost mocking in how calm it sounded. Light and conversational, but with a very sinister air to each word. "...what is it Emiya Kiritsugu desires so highly as to stake his life against me as well as any other?"  
  
"Kiritsugu wants to bring an end to the suffering of this world." She straightened her back and stood strong even in the face of the intense pressure Gilgamesh seemed to radiate, calm and fearless. "When he reaches the Grail, he wants to use its miracle to bring about world peace." For just a moment, it looked as though Gilgamesh might break out laughing again. Something in his eyes seemed to flicker like candelight, corner of his mouth twitching in a sarcastic smirk.  
  
"That is truly the most shortsighted of dreams." he remarked, draining the wine glass. "If he wishes an end to humankind's squabbling, perhaps he should be less trouble to me. Were there anyone able to exact his will over that of the people and silence their disputes, should it not be I who has power over all?"  
  
This was going to be a very long Holy Grail War, she concluded.  
  
...And she'd need a lot more wine.


	7. The Battle To Come

    A pen tapped against a notebook on Waver's desk as he looked over the notes he'd taken on the previous night's events. The time was a few hours past sunrise, and he hadn't bothered sleeping despite Lancer's concern. It was more important to organize what little they knew and determine what they could about their enemies. On the page before him in a neat script was:  
  
 _Berserker_  
 _Kayneth's Servant. Some weird fog around him obscuring just about everything. Black armor; some kind of knight? Corrupts objects with prana and uses them as his Noble Phantasm (?) Countered by Lancer's spear (red)._  
  
 _Archer_  
 _Servant of woman in white ('Irisviel'). Wears gold armor; must be someone wealthy (royalty?) Summons and throws swords as ammunition. Each of them looks like a Noble Phantasm. (impossible. No one has that many. So why does he?)_  
  
Better than nothing, for one night's work. There must have been some clue to their true names there, so Waver just had to look a little harder and recall whatever he could. But all he could think of had already been written down, so hesitantly he glanced over his shoulder before turning the page and writing something else entirely.  
  
   _Lancer_  
 _Cursed mark causes women to fall in love with him (Mystic Eyes?) Two cursed spears, red and yellow. Well-spoken, patient (to a fault) and disturbingly subservient._  
  
Was it prying to try and determine his own Servant's identity behind his back? Guilt tugged at the corners of Waver's mind as he looked over his own handwriting. Without a doubt Lancer would tell him what his true name was if Waver only asked, but that felt wrong somehow. Even if he said it wasn't a matter of shame, there was a sense of dread that hung in the air around the subject. Did he not want Waver to know who he was, or was whatever made him 'not a hero' so terrible that he couldn't bear to face it? Was someone like Lancer even capable of any crime so unforgivable?  
  
Waver leaned back in his chair and thought things over. Last night had truly marked the first time anyone had shown actual faith in him, even stood up in defense when someone spoke against him. Compassionate Lancer had been a real contender in this war even as Waver had doubted him, and the fact that he ever had made the student want to kick himself. Did the so-called 'not heroic' heroic spirit doubt his Master even once since the moment he'd been summoned? No. Lancer had regarded Waver more highly than anyone ever had, and he'd doubted his Servant could even fight.  
  
    "...idiot." he muttered, hands pressed to his face and teeth grinding together. "You _idiot._ "  
  
No getting around it, he'd have to pick up the pace. if every other Master was a thousand levels above him, Waver Velvet would have to start climbing and _fast_.   
  
    "Did you say something, Master?" Materializing from spirit form, Lancer had apparently startled Waver from his thoughts--he gave a sudden shout and jumped, falling out of his chair and landing on the floor with a thud.  
  
    "...N-no. Nothing. I wasn't talking to you." he fumbled quickly, trying to recover. Sitting back int the chair and trying to play things off as though his heart hadn't just leapt to about the level of his tonsils, he fixed Lancer with a critical stare and fixed his tie. "And I thought I told you not to call me that. It's one thing to call me Master on a battlefield, but nobody's going to overhear us here. You can just call me Waver, remember?" A slight nod was Lancer's response, though he appeared uncomfortable with the idea.  
  
    "Very well, if you insist. What is it you were writing?" Lancer changed the subject as quickly as he dared, causing Waver to glance back at his desk.  
  
    "Wh--nothing! Nothing, nothing at all, so don't worry about it!" The notebook was snapped shut and stuffed into a desk drawer...not exactly the subtle dismissal Waver had hoped for. But if Lancer realized Waver was trying to figure out who he was? He couldn't picture his Servant actually angry, but he was sure it wouldn't go over well.  
  
    "Are you feeling alright?" Instead of being suspicious at Waver's erratic behavior, Lancer only seemed concerned that he was acting strange at all.  
  
    "I'm...I'm fine. Just forget it, okay?" Never was Waver actually grateful for Lancer's silence until that moment. The subject dropped, silence fell between them to be filled only by the quiet drone of a news broadcast from the television in the corner.  
  
     _"...now on news at eight, the bodies of eight children previously reported as lost were found in Fuyuki City last night with reports coming in of five more listed as having gone missing. No word on a cause of death or people of interest, but we're told the police are currently investigating..."_  
  
Waver wasn't certain why that caught his attention. Was it the unusually large number, or the specific location? Or was it the fact that Lancer looked like he was ready to put a spear through the screen, hands curled tightly into fists at his side? Startled, Waver looked up at his Servant in alarm--did he blow a fuse or something? Suddenly, picturing him 'angry' wasn't quite so difficult as the armored knight beside him radiated calm fury over god only knew what.  
  
    "Lancer--Lancer, snap out of it." Waver stood up from his chair and put a hand on Lancer's shoulder (normally, he might have been annoyed that he had to reach up to do so). In a matter of seconds his Servant's sudden tension had vanished, hands relaxing and vicious stare turning mildly surprised.  
  
    "What? I'm sorry, I was...distracted."  
  
    "I noticed. What is it?" Waver lowered his hand from Lancer's shoulder; if his Servant tried to brush this off as nothing, it would be a strain on Waver's already limited patience.  
  
    "You would surely have me speak clearly, so...I have a bad feeling about this. Instinct tells me there is far more going on here than a contest of magi."   
  
That was easier than Waver expected. Maybe Lancer was finally catching on that he should just talk instead of worrying about offending--wait, what did he say?  
  
    "Are you telling me you think that-" he gestured to the TV "-has something to do with the war?"  
  
    "It's only a thought. Perhaps I am wrong--no, I hope that I am. But if you are to again ask for my opinion regarding what to do, I would suggest extreme caution. Last night was much too close to disaster, and I worry that we may yet be taken by surprise again before this fight is over."  
  
    Considering Lancer's words, Waver didn't answer for a minute or two. This was supposed to be a straightforward tournament, for a given value of the word. Seven Servants and Masters at each other's throats, fighting to the death. Conceptually, it was simple. Turning Lancer's words over and over in his mind, a slow realization dawned on Waver: Some competitions had cheaters. Would the world of magi that relied on elegance and dignity really have such a dark side?  
  
There was no doubt that it would. People like Kayneth would do anything for the advantage they thought they deserved, Waver mused bitterly. Even something as dark as this war would have a side that was darker still. Opening his mouth to tell Lancer they'd be more cautious, he paused. Wasn't there something just as important he needed to say first?  
  
    "...Thanks. I wouldn't have thought of something like that. If you think of anything else or just want to question any choice I make, say so. You can consider this a standing order if that makes it any easier." That would work, right? It seemed to serve its purpose, as Lancer was smiling when he responded.  
  
    "As you wish, M-...Waver. I will remember to bring to light any concerns I have."  
  
    "Don't forget. I need your help with things like this, I'm not exactly a master tactician."  
  
    "You have my word. I swear to you I will provide support in all things on and off the field of combat."  
  
     _Finally_ , Waver thought. He might have been getting somewhere with Lancer, but the war overall felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff. One small step in the wrong direction, and not even agile Lancer would be able to catch him.  
  



	8. Tragedy and Fate I

_Never was there a moment in which he was seen to suffer. Always the knight of dual blades wore a smile, and why should he not? In all the country he was the most well-loved among women, so to an observer he surely had no reason to lament. But just the same as beauty, happiness was in only the eye of the beholder. To those few who knew him closely, beloved companions in times of war and peace, he was known to suffer in silence. For never had he asked to be so treasured by women, nor had he desired it. Wherever he went they would follow, always a new lovestruck girl trailing behind the knight with a tinge of sorrow in his smile. And always he would treat them kindly, gently bringing them to the realization that no, he was not in love with them and yes, he was eternally sorry that they had been led to fall to a curse._  
  
Why?  
  
 _Some answered with anger. Most answered with misery. All ended in broken hearts. Yet no heart ached more than that of the one to bear years of this cycle of love and anguish. It wasn't fair, he thought--not to them. He spared no thought for his own pain, but concerned himself only with those he struggled in vain not to hurt. Never did he lament his fate, curse the gods or demand to know why he was granted the burden of a curse to be loved. He showed only a smile to those around him, even those few trusted above all others. The knight would sooner risk death than allow anyone to know the weight upon his heart; for the one who was so loved by women in turn loved his friends so dearly that he would not have them take any part of that._  
  
Why should you have to carry everything alone?  
  
 _Even when he wanted to mourn every heart broken in his wake. Even when their betrothed lovers cursed and fought him. When they called him 'womanizer' and came at him with intent to kill, he cut them down without a second thought. Long ago he accepted his fate and his curse, but he was not, would never be a womanizer. If he was, would he care about the women who had loved him? Would he remember each and every one, their names and faces as well as the pain in their eyes when he rejected them?_  
  
Don't be stupid, it's not fair to you either--!  
  
 _No one had any right to use that word against him. Yet at the same time he would never explain himself to those who cursed his name, never admit to everything being the fault of a divine curse. He would apologize, he would accept their hatred, and he would defeat them in combat. Admitting fully to the reason behind it all...then they would understand how much it hurt. That was no fate they or any other deserved._  
  
Idiot, idiot, **idiot!** It's stupid to be that selfless! How can you live like that?!  
  
 _Death might even be preferable._  
  
"...idiot..." Waver murmured, coming back to reality. His eyes focused on a ceiling he didn't quite recognize at first; his sight was still lost somewhere in dreamlike verdant fields and enormous stone castles lit by firelight. Green eyes blinked a few times, the magus snapping back to reality and sitting bolt upright in his bed. Right, he'd fallen asleep. Sure he had, it had been a long night. But what was that dream--?! There was a painfully tight sensation in his chest as the recollection came in sights and sentiments rather than anything truly coherent.  
  
Those were...memories. _Lancer's_ memories. Servant and Master shared a delicate spiritual link, and sometimes things like that could happen. Knowing it was possible hadn't prepared Waver for it in practice, however. This was like intruding on something private and even sacred, meant never to be spoken or even thought of.  
  
 _I shouldn't allow myself to be seen by any women._  
  
He'd thought Lancer had been joking, for god's sake! Waver was almost nauseated at the recollection of one of the first things his Servant had told him. And he had only brought it up because he thought it would hurt their chances?! Half of Waver wished Lancer would materialize so he could shout at the knight for being so monumentally stupid! Think about yourself once in a while, what's wrong with you?!  
  
    "Maste--er, Waver? You look pale--"  
  
    "Lancer, you...!" Any objection or angry declaration Waver wanted to make died in his throat. As far as he could tell, Lancer was unaware anything out of the ordinary had transpired. Waver would have to explain why he was shouting at him before actually shouting at him. Even then it seemed futile. What was done was done, and demanding Lancer stop functioning like he apparently always had would have accomplished nothing. "You...you...  
  
    "Have I misspoken? Perhaps I should have woken you sooner..."  
  
It was like kicking a puppy. A stupid, selfless, ageless puppy that fought with power humans couldn't even imagine. So not entirely like a puppy at all.  
  
    "It's not...forget it. I just had a nightmare, I guess." Lancer looked at Waver as though expecting him to say more, but he didn't dare elaborate. Could he really explain something like that? No, and he certainly wasn't about to try. "Don't worry about it."  
  
    At the same time, Lancer was fighting a silent conflict of his own. What Waver hadn't yet considered was that their spirit link went both ways. And had he asked, Lancer would have admitted to having seen something just as vague and frustrating. The knight tried not to give it much thought, but the image of a child alone among thick tomes of arcane magecraft was still firmly engraved in his mind. With it had come the strong sense of that which Lancer knew well--loneliness. The kind which that solitary figure had been far too young to know, and yet hung in the air around him like a dismal stormcloud. Imagining his Master having ever been so alone was something which caused the Servant's heart to ache in a way that defied proper description.  
  
    Should he have done the right thing and admitted to seeing something so private as a memory? Or would it spare his Master embarrassment and shame to remain silent?  
  
    "...What? What're you staring at me like that for?" Waver interrupted his Servant's thoughts, sounding annoyed. Perhaps it was truly annoyance, or perhaps he was being defensive. It was difficult for Lancer to tell one from another with someone like his Master.  
  
    "I was only concerned for your health." he quickly responded. "But if you say it is nothing, then it is nothing. " Too quickly, Waver's suspicious look seemed to say.  
  
The understanding that both knew more than they were willing to admit hung in the air between them, and yet they said nothing. Whether that was to spare each other or themselves...that remained to be seen.


	9. Secret Maneuvers

Halfway across the city, the patriarch of the ancient Tohsaka line was regretting several decisions made in recent weeks. And like the Einzbern camp, his own wine cellar was quickly running dry.

"This is a nightmare. A _disaster_. How were we to know the legendary King of Conquerors would be so...so _uncooperative?!_ " Elegance was the Tohsaka way, and yet Tohsaka Tokiomi's aggravation was reducing him to anything but. "Perhaps with a thousand Command Spells, I could begin to convince him to listen to me, but as things are now it is simply impossible!" The claret-suited magus stalked back and forth as he spoke, clutching a ruby-topped cane so hard his knuckles were ashen. Watching the tirade, a stoic pair stood against the far wall--one, a man in the clothes and crucifix of a priest, and the other a small blonde woman dressed in the long white and deep blue of a nun's robes.

"Where is Rider now?" ashed the priest in a steady voice, unfazed by Tokiomi's frustration.

"Emptying my _entire wine cellar_ , Kirei. Can't you have Saber speak rationality into his head?!"

"I can not." The woman shook her head, emerald eyes trained upon Tokiomi. "The king of Macedonia will answer to no other, even if he should defy rationality in doing so." Turning to Saber's Master--Kotomine Kirei--Tokiomi seemed momentarily at a loss for words. Silently he seemed to ask _what in god's name do I even do with him_ , and after a short contemplation the priest spoke in response.

"Using your Command Spells would most likely worsen the situation. I doubt Rider would tolerate one who tries to exert their will over him, even if that one is his very Master." Saber nodded in agreement, otherwise quiet at Kirei's side. Contemplating his options or lack thereof, Tokiomi sank into a chair with his head in his hands. How, _how_ was he ever supposed to win the Holy Grail with such an impossible and unreasonable Servant--?!

"I do not think we are quite lost yet, if I may." Saber said calmly, as stoic as the Master beside her. "Kirei having sent me as a scout-" and there was the smallest tone of disdain in her words at the concept "-served its purpose. I would say we have learned a great deal about the other two knight classes as well as Berserker." Tokiomi looked up as though waiting for her to continue, but it was only upon signal from Kotomine that the blonde spoke again. "...We know the Einzberns are located in the forest outside the city, and that their servant is an Archer. One who seems to specialize not with a bow, but with blades as projectiles." 

Green eyes met with her Master's for just a moment; by now she knew to recognize the nearly imperceptible changes in Kotomine's expression that designated actual emotion. Specifically it was the smallest raising of the priest's eyebrows that designated 'interest'...Saber didn't understand why he was so interested in the man of the Einzbern camp that Tokiomi had intelligence on, but perhaps it was none of her affair just yet.

"Furthermore, Lancer is one skilled in the use of two spears--an unusual ability, to be certain. I would doubt it hard to determine his true name with only a little more detail. His Master seems inexperienced, but Lancer himself is unlikely to be a simple opponent if he stood against Berserker."

As she spoke with the full attention of both magi on her, it occurred to Saber that she was beginning to dislike this role. Scouting and subterfuge...what an unfitting position for a knight. Small wonder that Tokiomi's Rider would rebel so carelessly, yet Saber's sense of duty far outweighed any desire to argue at the moment. She'd give the strategy devised by her Master and his ally a chance, but much more of this lurking in shadows and she would have to voice her dissatisfaction.

"The lack of information on Berserker is information in itself; clearly his identity is that of someone who has done well hiding it in the past. I could barely even get a clear view of the armor he wore. And his Master...he was smart enough to stay in the shadows and remain mostly quiet from what I could discern. I would assume he intends to capitalize on his Servant's veil by keeping one himself as well."

"So essentially, we know nothing but the barest details."

"Would you rather the barest details or none at all?"

There seemed to be tension in the air, Tokiomi's eyes narrowing at the perfectly calm Saber as her Master said nothing. The blonde swordswoman held no obligation to him on her own, and so had no problem speaking openly in what could be called a defiant manner. Her only allegiance to Tokiomi was that which her own Master asked of her, and nothing more. The standoff between the two lasted less than a minute before the magus scowled and stood up once more.

"I need to try and talk Rider into some semblance of cooperation. Kirei, have Saber try to monitor Berserker and his Master." Straightening up and apparently collecting all the dignity he could muster, the thoroughly hassled Tokiomi walked out.

"Shall I-" She paused upon seeing her Master's expression; Kirei Kotomine was staring intently at the door through which his teacher had just walked through. It seemed to Saber as though two separate thoughts were at war within his mind, and in that moment she felt concern for the Master to whom she had sworn her blade. He spoke rarely, but so much of him seemed...conflicted, behind stoic eyes and a steady voice. Her Master was a man Saber did not yet comprehend, yet it pained her to see him so...lost, in some way. "...Kirei?"

"...Stay near the forest. Keep an eye on the Einzbern camp's movements." So, a direct contradiction to Tokiomi's wishes. That was unexpected, but if that was the decision of her Master, so be it.

Nodding in confirmation, the girl turned to leave as well, intent upon the direction of the forest rather than going on a hunt for a mad knight. Saber held no allegiance to Tokiomi Tohsaka; she followed the orders of her own Master without question. Yet even as she did, she wondered if their most worrisome opponent would be an outside force or perhaps whatever battle was being waged behind her own Master's eyes.


	10. Mission

Had Waver Velvet known that he was part of one of the few Master-Servant teams with no unrest or discord between them, he might not have been so uneasy. Having one's enemies running around like decapitated chickens was an advantage in itself, maybe even if one wasn't aware of it.

"We saw Archer here," the student began, tapping the map on the desk between them, "so it's a safe bet they're located around here." He marked an X on the area of the forest.

"But confronting them on their own base would be suicide." Lancer spoke in response, apparently getting the hang of the 'question me, you idiot' sentiment Waver kept expressing. "In fact I fear confronting Archer _at all_ would be suicide. Do not mistake it for humility when I say without doubt I simply can _not_ match someone like that."

Waver had been afraid of that. But if it couldn't be helped, it couldn't be helped.

"That's fine. To tell the truth, I'm not too eager to face Kayneth. Maybe we should hope Berserker and Archer focus on each other for now..." Waver's gaze shifted back and forth across the map in a moment of hesitation; he hadn't really wanted to admit that much, but of course Lancer said nothing in judgment on the matter. "Walking headlong into a fight would be stupid. I don't have the ability to stand up to another magus in a fight, and if any more Servants are on Archer's level you'll be in trouble too." He quickly glanced up to see if his Servant was upset by the possible implication of weakness, but Lancer hadn't seemed to notice this time. He was focused on the map before them, as if trying to determine their best course of action through that alone. Relieved that Lancer hadn't taken it personally, Waver continued: "Listen, I've got an idea. Can you do something for me?"

"Of course." Lancer looked up as Waver marked off a number of positions in a straight line down the riverbank, noting them alphabetically as he did. Once that was done, he reached down to the floor next to him and picked up a small case, placing it on the desk.

"There's some glass vials in here--I labeled them last night to match the points on the river I just marked down. What I want you to do is get a sample of the water from the river at each point. Got it?" Lancer seemed confused as to just what the _purpose_ of his Master's request was, but of course he agreed with a simple nod. "...I'll explain it later, it's a little complicated." Waver stood up, picking up the jacket that hung on the back of his chair. "While you're doing that, I'm going to the bookstore to see if I can find anything useful. Can you be back here in two hours?" 

"I can be finished in _half_ that, easily." Lancer had practically jumped at the question, causing Waver to stop halfway through putting on a jacket with a look of surprise that bordered on comical. His Servant was a lot less reserved than usual right now, wasn't he...? That was strange--not really in a bad way, Waver had to admit, but strange. Where was this sudden confidence coming from?

"U-uh....Right. I just don't want to be caught out after dark again." Waver muttered awkwardly, pulling his jacket on the rest of the way. "I don't think anything will go wrong in broad daylight, but if it does we can still communicate through our spirit link. And I'll use a Command Spell to call you if there's an emergency. Okay?" 

"Of course, Master. I will do my best to be sure I am here when you return." Lancer gave his Master a slight bow (no matter how much Waver wished he would cut that out, it looked like a habit that was tough to break) as the magus walked out with an exasperated sigh. He just had to accept that he'd summoned someone that was just flat-out weird sometimes.

The truth of the matter was that Lancer was beginning to experience something he'd almost entirely forgotten could actually live within his heart. The night prior had been an unusual one, certainly. But that aside, there was something _hopeful_ beginning to form. The gradual understanding of just what kind of person his Master was brought with it a slow and cautious hope: _This just might work._ They just _might_ be able to reach the Grail together, this barely-a-hero Lancer and this so-called amateur magus who seemed to regard Lancer like they were naturally supposed to be on equal ground. Which was of course nearly unthinkable for someone like Lancer, who more or less believed his entire function was as his Master's shield and sword. From the first moment Waver had approached him as another human, he'd been thoroughly confused. But after a day or so to get used to the concept, Lancer was starting to notice...they worked well together. Had they really conflicted on any matter or even _hinted_ at the possibility? Hardly. There was a part of him that wished Waver would perhaps be a little more certain in his actions and orders--sometimes it seemed like his Master was being cautious with his words so he didn't come off as critical of his Servant. But if he'd taken any misstep, Lancer thought, wouldn't it be better if his Master was critical and corrected him?

Maybe it was just one of those things he'd have to live with. Compared to the possibilities, it was a very insignificant problem to have. With no one around to see it, a very satisfied smile played across Lancer's face as he picked up the case Waver had left. One step at a time; he wasn't about to fail when his Master had only asked such a simple task of him.

Meanwhile, Waver could only wish he was feeling that same confidence. Walking down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, the sentiment that currently overtook his mind was something more like worry. He knew he'd been lucky to get a cooperative Servant, and he was glad Lancer could take on someone as strong as Berserker. But Lancer was just so _unusual._ Waver was starting to wonder if he even could understand someone like that. His mind kept drifting back to that dream...the memories of someone who bore unendurable suffering without a single thought of complaint for himself. Even if Lancer wasn't happy with the role of a Servant, he'd never say a word. Even if Waver asked--even if he was truly concerned about whether or not this incomprehensible knight was happy--there was no way Lancer would ever complain to his Master.

"...stupid." he muttered under his breath, lowering his gaze to the sidewalk. Yes, he was fortunate that Lancer listened to him and did everything he asked...but Waver would probably have preferred if he _tried_ to have an opinion of his own. Why wasn't he that same confident person outside of battle that he was during it?

_As long as I still have strength enough to move, there is no enemy that can touch you._

Why was he remembering those words now? Waver shook his head as though he could just dismiss that thought with one motion. Strange or not, Lancer had stood up for him against Kayneth's threats. No one had ever done that for him before--why should they? He was nothing and no one in the eyes of anyone with half a Magic Circuit. The name of 'Waver Velvet' would neither be remembered nor worth any notice at all in the history of the Clock Tower. Except...to Lancer, he had no parallel. To that Servant, Waver was every bit as respected as he'd ever wished he could be. Unlike anyone else, Lancer _listened_ when he spoke. Some ancient knight, listening and taking orders from an insignificant student? The idea was ridiculous, unbelievable...

...a little frightening? What right did he _really_ have to order around some knight from a lost age? What if he screwed up and got Lancer seriously hurt, or worse even than that? If he made a mistake would Lancer really question him and say it was a stupid idea?! Waver pressed both hands to his head with an aggravated shout.

"He's _so **stupid--!**_ " Mid-outburst, Waver stopped to realize...hey, wasn't this the middle of the day on a city street? 

Sure enough, there were a number of people staring at the weird teenager that seemed to be shouting at no one. Wishing he could just disappear into his jacket, a tomato-red Waver quickly ducked into the bookstore and away from the number of strange looks he'd earned.


	11. Tragedy and Fate II

_'What you get out of life depends on how much effort you put into it.'_  
  
 _A simple concept. His parents had never sought to accomplish much, never aimed to become skilled or well-respected magi. They never had very much, but they were never really lacking in anything important--the amount of effort they had used to build their lives was just enough for them to be content, and that was fine. But he wondered just what the result would be if one never stopped working? If someone put forth all the effort they could muster, then it stood to reason they could accomplish any number of things, didn't it? It was to that end he gladly inherited his family's Magic Crest at an early age; they had never forced the study of magecraft upon him, but when he showed a genuine aptitude and interest in it of course his parents supported him until their dying breaths barely a year later._  
  
 _The fire had claimed nearly everything. His parents, his home, everything he'd known for the first eight years of his life was all reduced to cinders. They said he'd been lucky to survive at all. Although 'lucky' really wasn't the word he would have used. He was taken in by an uncle on his mother's side, apparently the only living relative anyone was able to get into contact with. And there was nothing inherently terrible about the arrangement; he was a quiet child for the most part, his uncle an alchemist who spent most of his time studying one matter or another. There was perhaps a measure of loneliness to living in that house...a great deal of it, actually. But it didn't really matter. He had an extensive library, and if anything that child's determination had only become stronger. Even if he had to be largely self-taught, so what? Hard work could get someone whatever they wanted._  
  
You must have been unhappy, weren't you? Does that not matter at all?  
  
 _Magi operated upon the law of equivalent exchange; that which is recieved must be paid for with something of equal worth. Even the most basic magecraft followed that rule. So didn't it make sense that hard work would always yield results? Didn't it stand to reason that if someone worked as hard as they could, they would earn a worthwhile place in the world? For all that magi spoke of equivalence...that wasn't the case. No, the world he'd been so fascinated with was one of bloodline and inheritance. If you weren't born into a worthwhile line, you were nothing in the Clock Tower. No matter how loudly he declared his accomplishments, they were still only the accomplishments of a mere third-generation magus with no ancestral line, no talent, and no future._  
  
Who determined it should matter what kind of family you were born into? That...to judge someone on that which they can't change, that is simply too cruel.  
  
 _What did it matter? He'd show them all, somehow. There was no way he was going to just keep letting people like Kayneth walk all over him with every condescending word they spoke to his face as well as behind his back. Who cared about some omnipotent wish-granting chalice? All the recognition he wanted was just within reach, if only he could just have the strength to work a little harder--_  
  
    "Lancer?" The hand on his shoulder hadn't been necessary; Lancer had immediately awoken at the sound of his Master's voice. Had he really been irresponsible enough to fall asleep at Waver's desk upon returning?  
     
    "Wh--M-Master, I..." Lancer fumbled for a moment or two, then quickly trailed off before looking at Waver as though he was trying to determine the right way to continue. He had to say something, after seeing all that. Wouldn't it have been right to confess himself a witness to what was obviously only meant to be private?  
  
For the second time since his summoning, Lancer said nothing. And for the second time, he cursed his own cowardice.


	12. Forebodings

    "If I'm asking a lot of you, you just need to say so." By now he knew full well that Lancer wouldn't say a word in complaint even if he was being pushed to the brink of death. But he still had to at least try to convince him otherwise, and with that remark aside, Waver took the case of glass vials and set it on the floor, sitting down and starting to inspect its contents.  
  
    "No, it is no such thing. I-it's of no importance, Master." Lancer quickly waved a hand to dismiss the subject, moving to sit across from Waver and hoping he didn't press the subject. "What was it you wanted me to collect all this water for, exactly?" Waver raised an eyebrow in what resembled suspicion, but looked back to his work with glass and liquids soon after.  
  
    "I'm going to try and determine if there's any traces of magic in the water. It's kind of a longshot, but the river runs straight through the city. If there's a Master located nearby, this might help us narrow down their location." Lancer hadn't yet realized he was staring at Waver as he explained things, and so focused was his Master on the task that he hadn't yet noticed anything unusual either. It was beginning to seem even more fortunate that Waver had summoned him specifically--such experiences were things that could be understood by a knight who disliked his own bloodline, who believed wholeheartedly in the value of working for what one wished to achieve in life.  
  
    "So it's...some form of alchemy?" Lancer asked, the question forming with no real thought behind it. Speaking on autopilot, his mind was a thousand different places at once.  
  
    "That's right." Waver answered, impressed. "How did you kn-...Lancer? Hey, what are you looking at me like that for?" From the young Master's perspective, Lancer had been acting weird all day--weird even for him. Now Lancer was staring at him in--was it concern? He seemed distraught about one thing or another, enough that Waver was definitely worried now. "What's wrong?" Lancer opened his mouth to respond, a great number of things lining up to be his potential next words.  
  
 _I won't lose. If success is your only wish, then I will give all that I have for your victory._  
  
    "I-"  
  
 _-can not express how grateful I am to fight by your side._  
  
"...-have never seen someone use alchemy before." the knight finished halfheartedly, uneasy gold eyes glancing to the side.  
  
    "That's _it?_ " Waver asked with a flat look. "Geez, you looked like you were really upset or something." Shaking his head and muttering something about Lancer having a weird expression, the young magus looked back to his work. From the eyedropper in his hand, he placed a single drop of some clear solution into each vial; Lancer watched in silence all while mentally kicking himself over not speaking his mind like Waver wanted him to. The water in the first few vials turned a pale shade of red--no, they weren't quite all the same. As the two of them watched, each vial Waver added something to turned darker than the last. Lancer wasn't certain just what that meant, but the increasingly serious look on his Master's face seemed to say it wasn't quite the expected result. A tense silence followed until Waver stopped--the last vial he'd added the solution to was still perfectly clear, yet the one before it was so deep crimson as to be mistaken for blood.  
  
    "M--I mean, Waver? What does that mean?" Lancer watched expectantly as his Master carefully inspected the last two vials, eyes narrowed and mouth turning to a frown as he contemplated that same question himself. The last colored vial was the one labeled H, and it was that mark Waver pointed to on the map lying nearby.  
  
    "Hey, Lancer. Tell me about this spot here: was there anything that stuck out? A building, structure, anything at all?" Glancing over the map thoughtfully, it took Lancer a minute to respond.  
  
    "Ah--now that you mention it, I did see something. It looked like a drainage pipe of some kind, though I couldn't begin to guess where it could lead. Does that hold some significance?"  
  
    "Yeah." Waver shook his head, exasperated. "This was a little more effective than I thought. The concentration of magic traces in the water is too high for a Master and Servant to just be in the vicinity. Something like this-" he held up the vial with deep crimson liquid "-has to mean that they're practically sitting on the riverbank. And I'd bet anything they're hiding out somewhere in there."  
  
There was a look of sheer amazement on Lancer's face, and his lack of a verbal response made Waver fidget uncomfortably. Say something already, will you?! "...What? What is it this time?"  
  
    "You located a Servant that easily." he stated, voice quiet but audibly impressed. "Why do you act as though you're dissatisfied with this result?"  
  
    "What--what are you talking about, this is nothing. Any real magus would be able to get the same result with a less simplistic method. Doing something like this, it's--i-it's the kind of thing an amateur would need to rely on." Stammering, Waver quickly began to pack up the case of vials as though that should have been the final word on the matter. For about half a minute, it was; that time was what it took for Lancer to find his own voice to express his thoughts honestly.  
  
    "But does that not make it even more impressive?" Waver stared at him, eyes narrowed in confusion. That didn't make any logical sense, for an amateur method to be impressive because it was amateur.   
  
    "What? Don't be stupid, there's nothing impressive about this. It's kind of pathetic." Haltingly--just short of making Waver think the words were physically painful--Lancer continued.  
  
    "I think th...that you're wrong."  
  
Waver nearly dropped the entire case at that, fumbling and flailing around to prevent everything inside shattering to pieces. Lancer had just out-and-out rejected Waver's words, something the teenager almost hadn't thought _possible_. His Servant had contradicted him, and Waver stared in openmouthed shock.  
  
    "K-keep going, don't just stop there!" responded Waver urgently. God forbid he start to backtrack after doing something so unprecedented.  
  
    "With all due respect, you see...as you've said, the method is simple. I have just watched you exert nearly no energy in this, and yet you located a Servant's probable location. If this is the amateur method, an expert would have perhaps covered a wider area and yet spent _far_ more magic in doing so." Listening to Lancer's reasoning explained, Waver was suddenly very aware of himself. The quickening of his heart. Grip tightening on the case he still held. Breath catching in his throat and face steadily turning a bright shade of pink. "This is beyond any development I could have expected from your initial instruction this morning." Nodding sagely as if in conclusion, Lancer looked to Waver with an eager sparkle to his eyes and a genuinely proud smile. "Simple or not, your method and its result are truly worthy of praise."  
  
    "Gh--" A choked noise left the Master's throat, as if he wanted to call Lancer an idiot yet couldn't force it past the breath he'd been inexplicably holding. The rush of heat to his face was a sure sign of deep scarlet embarrassment, hidden by an awkward fumblingstepped closer to stand upright followed by turning on his heel. The case was shoved in a bottom desk drawer which was slammed shut, Waver's back to Lancer as he scrambled to steady himself.  
  
Could that have been the first time Waver Velvet's skill had been praised by anyone but his parents?  
  
    "You haven't fallen ill, have you?" Lancer asked, smile faltering as he got to his feet and stepped closer. From his perspective, it must have seemed as though his Master had just choked on thin air and started having a fit. _Great job, Waver_ , he cursed inwardly, _really subtle._  
  
    "I'm f-fine!" Rounding on a surprised and confused Lancer (who he made sure to point at for emphasis), Waver snapped with his face still a light shade of pink. "Y-you're relly kind of an idiot, you know that?! Geez, what kind of person th-thinks an amateur can do something better than an expert?!" The look on Lancer's face made Waver almost immediately regret his reaction; meanwhile there was a very different conflict going on in the Servant's mind. His Master had a tendency to react with anger at the most unexpected things. Praise and compliments, for example. In this specific instance, he had frozen in place and very nearly begun to apologize profusely for...something. When it occurred to him that 'something' was poorly defined, the knight of the lance hesitated. Of course he must have said or done something unsatisfactory, yet...this was anger, wasn't it? Could it have been a little less simple than that? Waver seemed irritated and even angry, yet there was--thankfully--nothing like hatred in his stare. At best Lancer could sense annoyance, so what if this overblown reaction was just that--a discontented ruffling of feathers, an unspoken warning to back off for whatever reason.  
  
It made sense, he silently concluded. After all...his Master was (perhaps above all else) lonely, wasn't he? Who knew better than that knight how such a thing could vary? One might desperately seek praise and fervently hope to draw in the attention of those nearby...and then one might not know what to do with such a thing when they received it.  
  
    "Perhaps just an idiot who appreciates efficiency, Master." Lancer spoke at last, the tense line to his shoulders relaxing and a light smile crossing his face. The best course of action in this matter was to leave things as they were. To push the matter might be provoking his Master, and retracting his words was something Lancer simply couldn't do.  
  
    There was far more he had to concern himself with than figuring out how on earth his Master's mind worked, anyway. Shaking his head, Lancer picked up the map of Fuyuki as Waver occupied himself with reorganizing the stack of books he'd brought home with him...all the while muttering one thing or another about an idiot Servant.  
  
    "What are we going to do about this?" Waver stopped in the middle of placing everything in a pile, hand hovering in midair as he considered what Lancer might have been asking about--oh, right. The Servant hiding at the riverside.   
  
_Now who's the idiot, you forgot all about that._ The idly hovering hand went to Waver's face as he exhaled a deep sigh.   
  
    "Right, that thing. We should probably look into it; we know Archer's not hiding there, and there's no way Kayneth would put up with a drainage pipe as a hideout...so there's really no way of knowing for sure which of the others we could end up dealing with." Going into a fight mostly blind sounded like a bad idea, but Waver was pretty sure the element of surprise was a god thing to have. Wasn't it? "If you're up to it, we can investigate the area tonight."  
  
Even as Lancer responded eagerly and Waver knew his Servant was ready for a fight, there was a terrible feeling growing in the pit of his own stomach. Anxiety before a battle, probably. Opening the nearest book, he silently prayed that was all there was to it.


	13. In A Nightmare

    Overwhelming silence was broken only by the faint splashing of a half-inch or so of water underfoot. Neither Lancer nor Waver had spoken since entering the long and dark pipe that functioned as a concrete corridor; they were both quiet and alert, the student a few steps behind his armor-clad Servant.  As they progressed the small amount of light back at the entrance grew more distant, and with no end in sight Waver was beginning to wonder if they'd eventually just be fumbling around in pitch darkness. ...Not that he was afraid or anything. Oh no, that would just be ridiculous. Just ahead, Lancer seemed to have no trouble knowing where he was going; Waver assumed the vision of a Servant was probably better than that of a human's, or at least he sure hoped it was. This wasn't the kind of place where the blind leading the blind would end in anything good...a creeping sensation of dread was coming up on him now. Maybe it was just because his Servant seemed tense, or because of that strange unidentifiable smell that Waver had forced himself to ignore even as it grew steadily more pronounced. Or that pressing atmosphere that filled the air, thickening it with traces of prana and a nauseating sensation of this place is wrong that Waver didn't dare acknowledge. Instead he quickened his own steps, walking closer to Lancer with a dissonant splashing of the water they walked through.  
  
He may have opened his mouth to speak once or twice as they went, but a single look at his tense and serious Lancer stopped whatever thoughts were forming in Waver's head. A Servant was likely to be far more aware of the sensation that grew steadily stronger around them: that which Waver could not put a name to, Lancer was sharply alert and aware of. So if his Servant was concentrating so intensely upon what was ahead, Waver wouldn't interrupt for the sake of their own safety.  
  
Eventually  the narrow passageway opened up to a wider space, though it was as dark as ever. Lancer stopped in his tracks and Waver did the same, staying near the knight's side and squinting uselessly into the darkness.   
  
    "We shouldn't be here." It was then that Lancer spoke at last, saying something Waver didn't really understand. Yes, everything down to the air around them felt oppressive and yes, there was that deepy nauseating smell hanging in the air, but any actual enemy would have attacked long before now. Waver had chalked the sensations up to residual magic in the air; he assumed by now this was a magus' workshop, or even that of a Caster-class Servant.  
  
    "What are you talking about? There's no one else here right now." Waver countered, rummaging in his pocket as he spoke. "As long as we don't hang around, we'll be long gone by the time whoever established this workshop gets back." Completely still, Lancer didn't look back at his Master as he broke a small object open with a cracking noise. As he tossed it into the air, it became a pale green light source...and Waver immediately wished it hadn't.  
  
The vaguely shaped shadows against the wall and scattered across the floor were outlined in the dim light his magecraft had created, and thus were shadows no longer; it was clear that which were shapes in the dark were corpses in the light. No, not even that--pieces of corpses, dissected and torn apart. Waver could all but feel the floor violently yanked out from beneath him when realization hit like a sucker punch to the stomach: there was no water on the floor, or had not been for some time since their entrance. Instead, the liquid that was underfoot even now was deep crimson, originating from the countless chunks of flesh and bone that were only barely recognizable as having once been human--and young at that. Did even one he could place as human look a day over ten years old?  
  
    "Gh...hrk--" Choked sounds were all Waver could produce, falling back against his Servant's side to stop from collapsing to his knees on a blood-soaked floor. Both hands flew to his mouth as everything in his stomach threatened to present itself violently. Yet even as Waver trembled and frantically tried to get himself under control, Lancer was just as still as when they had walked in.  
  
    "I did try to tell you." he remarked, tone even rather than admonishing.  
  
    " _What the hell is wrong with you?!_ " Waver heard himself snap as soon as his stomach had stopped its horrible turning. "How can you--how can you just _stand_ in a place like this and not even--...n-not even..." The reprimand was never finished, trailing off as Waver caught sight of the trace of scarlet on his Servant's own hand. Still as he was and calm as he sounded, there was an immeasurable tension in every inch of Lancer's stance; his hands shook from what was unmistakably rage, curled so tightly into fists his own blood had been drawn. While the show of emotion was a relief in one way, it was terrifying in another: Lancer could actually get angry? According to the burning murderous rage in gold eyes, the answer was yes. His own indignance silenced, Waver placed a hand on Lancer's arm to steady himself as well as try to bring his Servant back down to a less foreign level for him. "...destroy it. Please. Please, just...I don't care how, I'm not strong enough and we can't leave things like this."  
  
Lancer's response was a firm nod of conviction that caused Waver to lean against the knight in exhausted relief. Not to say he expected Lancer to deny the half-sobbed request, but for a moment he feared it impossible. A Lancer-class wasn't one with the physical power of some others, but if this Servant was so certain he could manage...  
  
    "As your sword I shall carry out the will of my lord gladly; if you wish this place demolished, it will be done." Even more relieved to hear no anger lacing the frustrated tension in Lancer's voice (what would it even sound like? Nothing he wanted to hear, certainly.) Waver looked up at him as the armored knight continued. "However, first there is something that needs to be attended to." Lancer's eyes that seemed to almost glow unaturally in what measure of the light they caught were directed off to the side, towards a dark corner Waver's magecraft hadn't quite reached. As he stepped away from his Master's side to approach it, the magus staggered back--had he just seen something _move_ over there?  
  
    "What...Lancer, wh-wh-what is that?" The tremor in his voice would have been shameful if Waver wasn't completely terrified.  
  
    "Another Master." Seriously and yet with no sense of urgency or concern, Lancer said something that didn't pacify Waver's racing heart in the slightest. "If my assumption is correct...Caster's, I should say."  
  
    "Wh-- ** _why didn't you say anything--?!_** " The interjection echoed off the walls, fear channeled into manifesting as some sense of anger. "You knew there was an enemy Master here the entire time, _why didn't you tell me?!_ "  
  
    "Because I do not believe him to be human any longer." That shut Waver up instantly, mouth hanging open as the entire English language died in his throat. "At the absolute least, he is not aware of our presence." On the edge of the pale light's reach, Lancer knelt down beside a vague dark shape. Waver took a few halting steps forward before stopping awkwardly, stuck between approaching what seemed like death or staying in place and doing nothing.  
  
    "Should I...what should I--" Waver was a miserable healer and he knew it, but squinting into the dark he could see what looked like a pitiful and broken form. Even an enemy didn't seem to deserve that.  
  
Lancer had a better view of things from where he was at the other Master's side; 'pitiful and broken' didn't seem to do this justice. Not that he would link the word 'justice' to this in any form, of course. Lying before him was a figure the pallid gray of a corpse, yet still he drew breath through some twisted miracle. A discarded blue sweatshirt laid out forgotten on a worn wooden table, beside it god only knew what manner of bloodied mess. The barely-conscious Master's ashen skin was crisscrossed with clumsily healed wounds, thin lines stained with blood. Some kind of...vivisection? What purpose could that possibly serve? Lancer thought as quickly as he could, processing all possible circumstances so that his own clever Master wouldn't have to. If another enemy was responsible for this, they surely wouldn't have bothered with the vague attempt at healing. If I am indeed correct and this is Caster's workshop and Master...no, it couldn't be. Lancer raised a hand to his head, in deep concentration as he tried to comprehend the idea forming in his mind. Why would any Servant take apart their own Master? No, what kind of monstrous Servant could?   
  
    "Forgive me for asking this of you, Master...if you can, could you tell me what is on that table?" Processing the request for a moment or two, Waver moved with jerking and hesitant motions to where Lancer had indicated, squinting in the dim light to register what rested upon it. The glint of small silver knives were stuck vertically throughout a small gray mass, mostly shapeless for how it had been cut apart-- _oh god those were little sharp **teeth**_  
  
    "I-I don't know. What the...what _is that thing_ \--?!"  
  
So his Master didn't know either. Lancer contemplated for a second; the conclusion, grim as it was, seemed to be that this half-dead magus before him must have held something of interest for Caster. If indeed it was a traitorous Servant that had done this work (and regrettably Lancer could see no alternative) then that was the only reasoning he could see. Sighing quietly and closing his eyes in resignation, Lancer's right hand closed around a golden lance that materialized with the faintest fluctuation of magic in the air.  
  
    "Lancer..." Waver muttered apprehensively as he turned to face his Servant, "...what are you doing...?"  
  
    "The only thing that we can do for him." came the steady reply.  
  
    "What--what, no, you can't just _kill him_ like this--"  
  
    "...What is it that you consider this? Not merely this specific situation, but all of this--what is a war to you if not lives lost one way or another?" For the first time, there was something admonishing in Lancer's voice as he looked to his horrified Master. Waver retreated at the coldly intense stare with which he was now fixed, stopping when he felt the splintered wooden table at his back. "Were you to heal him, I fear that would be far less merciful. Whatever this man's circumstances, it's clear to me life such as it is would be torment beyond imagining, or has been for some time now. If you would have me stop, then I shall. But if you give that order, do so knowing this is the reality of war; there are some places where that which others call 'compassion' is not sparing a life, but taking it as an act of mercy."   
  
Lancer stopped for a moment, then continued in a softer tone as though recalling some experience Waver couldn't even begin to guess at. "Understand this, Waver. In doing the right thing, others may be hurt. There is rarely a situation in which everyone can be happy with the results of one's choice...whatever you decide, make it with conviction. So there can be no room for regrets. Look back on this moment saying 'I did the right thing, even if others may blame me for it,' and stand by your decisions no matter what. Do you understand me?"  
  
    A deep sense of shame gripped at Waver's heart. Even the smallest reprimand from Lancer felt as though it were an absolute condemnation, in the same voice that had so earnestly praised his skills earlier. His hand gripped at the fabric of his sweater in an attempt to calm his still-racing heart, eyes lowering to the crimson stained floor.  
  
    "...yeah. Y-yeah. Do what you have to, Lancer. Take care of things here, I'll--I-I'll wait out at the entrance." he managed to get out, staggering away from the table and turning his back on the entire scene. As he started to walk away, Waver thought he heard Lancer's voice again, quietly: was he speaking to the half-dead magus on the ground? There wasn't much time to give it thought. Almost immediately after came the sound of a blade cutting through flesh and bone straight through to the stone floor.   
  
Instead of daring to look back, Waver closed his eyes tightly and ground his teeth together, taking off running down the long and dark path through which they'd entered.


	14. The World Is Tumbling Down

    Amidst the sounds of supports crumbling and the beginnings of fire crackling, Waver had done nothing. When Lancer finally did come out after a time that had seemed endless and noted it was no longer safe there, his Master did nothing but stand from where he had been sitting with his knees held to his chest. Coherent thought had been forced back and locked away. If he dared to contemplate what had transpired so far, the student feared he might snap entirely.  
  
But it was hard to think of anything else now, even as they moved further and further from the river. What more could he focus on--how high above Fuyuki they were as his Servant's agility carried them from one rooftop to another? No, the height itself was terrifying. If Waver focused on that, he might outright faint. Concentrating on how embarrassing it was for their easiest transportation method to be Lancer carrying him wasn't a better option, either. Really, did they have to be this close? Sure, the alternative was falling to his death, but when things seemed this awkward terminal velocity was a little tempting.  
  
...but on second thought, was it so bad in this case? Lancer's hold was secure without being constricting, and despite the lack of anything else separating him from a sudden encounter with the Fuyuki streets...despite everything Waver felt an odd sense of safety building itself as the solid framework to scattered and chaotic thoughts. It was that he held on to, distracting him from the lingering smell of blood and the memory of broken corpses.  
  
Unexpectedly, Lancer came to a sudden halt atop one of the city's higher buildings and set Waver on his feet, staring with that calmly serious expression that hadn't left his eyes since they'd stumbled on Caster's workshop.  
  
    "Wh-...what? What is it?" Waver faltered under his Servant's gaze for only a moment before crossing his arms.  
  
    "You don't look well. I thought it better we stop for a moment so you could catch your breath." Did Waver really look as bad as he felt? Taking a deep breath, he made a concentrated effort to steady himself...with little success. Fuyuki's nighttime winter air was freezing as it blew past; that must have been why Waver shuddered and held a deathgrip on his own arms crossed over his chest. Of course there was no other reason. He certainly wasn't scared out of his mind, not one bit. And he definitely wouldn't admit as much in front of anyone, lest of all Lancer. Instead he shut his eyes tightly against the night's circumstances, painfully aware that Lancer was still watching him with that same focused gaze.  
  
    "I-I'm fine. I don't know what you're talking about, just forget it!" Waver snapped without thinking, desperate and scrambling for something that would just undo this entire thing. Waver would have almost preferred returning to a life of mockery and obscurity in the Clock Tower to whatever hell this entire competition was. He'd been stupid, this whole time. Stupid to think entering and winning the Holy Grail War would ever be simple, stupid to think someone like Waver Velvet could compete and survive in a world of magi and monsters and things he couldn't even comprehend. Waver might have flat-out broken down crying if he thought despair would help matters. Even knowing it wouldn't accomplish anything didn't stop it from being a very real possibility.  
  
    "...I'm sorry." Lancer's apology was something Waver was used to by now. ordinarily, he might have dismissed it angrily if not for just how it was delivered. His Servant had knelt down to meet his Master's eye level as he'd been admonished for in the past. But this time Lancer had paired the action with something completely unthinkable: his arms rested around Waver's trembling shoulders in a secure although awkward embrace. Blinking in openmouthed shock, the teenager's own arms dropped uselessly to his sides.  
  
"Had I only been more cautious--no, had I been attentive at all I would surely have been able to bring an end to this before it began." Lancer's own voice sounded unsteady, and though they were too close for Waver to properly see his Servant's face, a startling thought sparkled in the back of his mind. Could it have been possible...was Lancer every bit as distraught about that workshop as his Master? Had he been hiding what he really thought the entire time?  
  
Never was there a moment in which he was seen to suffer.  
  
    "It's...it's not...j-just shut up, idiot." Waver muttered halfheartedly for lack of knowing any other way to react. Stupid, stupid Servant that only knew how to fake a smile or force himself to stay calm. Stupid hypocrite Master that only covered everything he felt with anger and insults. "Don't go saying this is your fault. If I had thought to look by the river earlier--no, forget it. Just forget it." Shaking his head, Waver stood a little straighter. That seemed to be enough to get Lancer to let go of him. "We should be more worried about Caster. They should've disappeared without a Master, right?" Lancer was silent, that in itself already worrying. It was a simple question with an obvious answer: if a Master died, their Servant lost its connection to the world and vanished. There were class skills that provided exceptions, but those were nothing a Caster should have had. All signs pointed to Caster being defeated without a fight, so what was Lancer thinking about?  
  
    "I am not certain, Master. Yes, it is likely Caster no longer has a Master and as far as we know, no other active contract. Yet something still bothers me about the matter." Lancer stood up as he spoke, hand raised to the side of his head in contemplation. Saying nothing, Waver just waited--by now he knew Lancer was just as smart as Waver himself with the added bonus of thinking calmly under pressure. There was no doubt that if Waver had missed some detail, Lancer surely would manage to think of it.  
  
"Why take so many victims?" the knight said at last, distaste of the concept coloring his words. "I admit I wouldn't have counted them even if I had been able, but a precise number isn't necessary. There is no doubt his Master had little to no time remaining--Caster must have known that. If he took them as a secondary prana source, then it is likely he is on borrowed time of his own even now."  
  
 _So he could still be out there_ , Waver thought but didn't dare say. A shudder went down his spine, shaking him violently...wait, _was_ that only a shudder? Lancer immediately went rigid, turning sharply to face the direction of the river they'd just come from. A split second later, Waver felt the same thing that had set his Servant on full alert. The faint tremors that reached even the rooftop upon which they stood could have easily been mistaken for an earthquake, but the sharp and heavy fluctuations of prana contradicted that immediately. Waver rushed as close to the roof's edge as he dared, squinting in the direction Lancer had turned; towards the bridge that joined Fuyuki's two districts. A thick violet miasma was beginning to gather over the water, something unspeakable building up beneath its surface. The river stirred and seemed to boil at the motions of something within it, some dark source of prana as suffocating as that within Caster's workshop. Thrashing figures churned the water, rising as an enormous figure seeming to be from hell itself; a terrible and indescribable thing of countless tentacles and who knew what else silhouetted by the thick fog.  
  
    "... _Damn it_. I hate being right sometimes." Lancer muttered under his breath, annoyed but mostly unfazed. Such a thing had been presenting itself as a likely option: on such little borrowed time, a drastic action to eliminate Fuyuki itself and with it all the other Servants was not out of the question for an obviously deranged mind.  
  
    "Wh-what are we going to do?" Waver swallowed his disgust and horror, turning his back on the monster and facing Lancer instead. Steady as ever, the knight shook his head.  
  
    "That is not my choice to make." he replied, gold eyes focused on the summoned monstrosity. "...I can ensure your safety, certainly. Take both of us well out of Caster's reach and wait either for his exhaustion or for another Servant to defeat him. Such a matter would be simple."  
  
    "You're not serious...!" Waver interjected, stomping one foot in anger. "What about that _thing_ , are you just going to _let it_ destroy the whole city? And if it kills anyone else, if Caster just _keeps_ getting prana from killing humans, _what if it doesn't stop?!_ " The corner of Lancer's mouth twitched into a thin smile, glancing to Waver for only a second before returning to watch the leviathan upon the river.  
  
    "A lesser man might have prioritized his own life over others. Facing what must look like certain death to you, I have to confess that I feared you would wish us to run. That was my mistake--I forgot for a moment what kind of Master I was granted." Lancer nodded just slightly to punctuate his thought, satisfied. "Forgive me...but it is still not my place to tell my Master what action to take." He turned to a stunned Waver, confident and unafraid. "Give me an order, and no matter how impossible I will see it done."  
  
There it was again; Lancer had faith in him. Even after assuming Waver would want to run from this fight--what sane man _wouldn't_ be running full speed out of Fuyuki--his Servant had corrected himself on the matter as though it was an obvious misstep in logic. The sky was blue, the earth was round, and Waver Velvet was a Master worth all the faith Lancer could spare. What a strange, deluded world his Servant lived in.  
  
    "...Can you fight it?" Waver asked in an uncertain voice. He trusted Lancer, of course. But it was just as he said; that monster was death. There was no way around it, no way even his fast and powerful knight could--  
  
    "Of course I can." Lancer's voice came without hesitation, holding out his hand. "With my Master at my side, it is not possible for me to lose." Dumbfounded, Waver looked from Lancer's extended hand to the knight himself.  
  
    "Wait, you...really want me to come with you?" he asked, realizing it was a stupid as well as badly timed question. Didn't they have more important things to be doing?  
  
    "It's too dangerous to stay this far away. While it's a risk to be so close to the battlefield as well, I can better protect you if you stay within reach." Lancer actually smiled as he spoke, tone even light in the face of the monster ahead of them. "You need not worry about your own safety. There is no threat I will hesitate to protect you from."  
  
Waver wanted to believe that--he _did_ believe it, but what if Lancer failed? For all his confidence...no Servant was perfect, right? Waver himself had been confident when the war started, and he didn't have to look around to know it had done nothing but land him in unthinkable trouble. Lancer wasn't infallible; there was no way that any Servant was.  
  
...But that applied to Caster just as much, didn't it?  
  
Waver took a deep breath, hardening what little resolve the night had left within him and taking Lancer's hand before doubt had a chance to cut the young Master down any further.  
  
    "Let's finish this together, Lancer."


	15. A Man In Black

    " ** _Why?!_** " Outside the Tohsaka estate, the blonde Saber's indignant shout echoed through the thick night air. "Why do you hesitate, Kirei?! My power combined with that of Rider's would prove enough to obliterate _that!_ " she gestured to the summoned creature which had begun to tower over buildings and could now be seen from even their position.  
  
    "Tokiomi wishes you to stay behind." Kotomine answered evenly, staring up at the creature with unshaken stoicism. "Your presence would only serve to agitate Caster further. Did we not learn this lesson in the blood of innocents spilled when last he appeared to lure you to fight?"  
  
"Kirei--! The devil with Tokiomi's orders, have you not been acting behind his back all this time?!  As much as I have watched the movements of this Kiritsugu Emiya, I have seen _yours_ as well, and your inaction speaks volumes more than the orders of Tokiomi Tohsaka!"  
  
Kotomine neither spoke in response to his Servant nor did he take his eyes from Caster's summoned monster. The anger of a heroic spirit seemed hardly enough to even make him blink. But why did he so hesitate? Caster now more than ever was an unholy existence which slaughtered and sacrificed the innocent. Should a priest, of all people, not have the greatest desire to halt the work of some earthbound devil? It was his duty both as a man of God and as a human being.  
  
Yet here he stood: silent. Captivated. _Captivated_ by the hellish mass of death given animate form. Kirei Kotomine now more than ever felt himself lost; standing upon a raft which drifted further and further down a path he would not dare even attept to name.   
  
The heretic Caster, this aberration and blight upon the earth...it was clearly something he should have taken upon himself to destroy. One of the Church's numbers was the remedy for such things, the blood to turn back the plague.  
  
Black and white. Good and evil. Heaven and hell. Simple.  
  
So why now did it seem less and less so as Kirei contemplated it? Although his methods were that of a heretic, did not Gilles de Rais seek to accomplish a holy crusade of his own? 'Jeanne', he had incorrectly named the King of Knights at the priest's right hand. Claimed her 'memory loss' was punishment from God he sought to cleanse and undo. To this Servant whose Master may as well have been Lucifer himself, no matter how bloody his actions, they were 'good'. In bringing them to a halt, it would in Caster's mind be Saber and by extention Kirei himself that would become 'evil'.  
  
The line of thought was in itself absurd, and even as he pursued it to that conclusion Kirei knew it to be so. But he had pursued the fleeting thought to completion all the same--why? Why seek to understand a mind long since lost to madness? Caster surely thought nothing of morality, so contemplating 'morality' itself in application to such a man was futile. But the idea that such unthinkable acts could be seen as 'good' in any perspective? That concept lingered in Kirei's mind; simultaneously it fascinated and terrified him. One committing bloody sacrilege, who raged against God in manic hatred, and who now defied Him by drawing up a monster from Hell's deepest pits...could think themselves a saint in their own right. .Was that envy that now tugged at the priest's mind? Envy of a child-murdering monster?  
  
...Yes, he concluded. As necessary as Kirei knew it to be, morality was a heavy chain which tethered most to their belief in what was 'good' and 'right'. Did he not see that displayed by his own Saber? So chained to the ideals of truth and purity was Arturia Pendragon that she had dragged herself down unto her last breaths. Unfettered by the 'morality' that Kirei contemplated even now, untouched by the hesitance and questioning that gripped the heart of Kotomine Kirei with doubt's icy hand was this Caster...this monster who held no doubt in his path no matter how bloodstained.  
  
It was that absolute lack of second-guessing or hesitation that Kirei Kotomine envied deeply.  
  
To be so firmly rooted in one's actions that they should be only natural. To never question what path to take and merely take it. To him, there was little that seemed more appealing.  
  
    "Saber." he said at last. Not once had he moved from the spot to which he was rooted or even spared a sideways glance to the woman. At a word he held her full attention, and at his next few he took her by surprise entirely: "Go. Stop Caster if you will. But do not use your Noble Phantasm--not unless I order otherwise. Is that understood?"  
  
She found it strange, but understandable. The sword Excalibur was one that could be linked to but one hero, and to invoke its name would be to relinquish any semblance of secrecy. All those who heard its name and saw its light would know her as King Arturia Pendragon. But why had Kirei changed his mind so suddenly. And 'stop Caster _if you will_ '...did he regard the situation at hand with such apathy? As though it didn't make a difference whether Saber brought this to an end or not?  
  
No matter. The important things to contemplate now were Caster, his monster, and the eradication of both. She could question Kirei's motives and wording later, and it was with that in mind that Saber raced off with the utmost speed.  
  
Her Master made no move to follow. Not yet, at least. He watched the knight's retreating back, questioning his own choice as much as his Servant would have liked to. Again he had directly opposed Tokiomi's orders...to what end? What purpose would it serve? Perhaps it was that which he sought to answer. A question of 'if I were to act without thought or hesitation, would those actions be what I truly desire'? Humans were meant to be rational, thoughtful creatures; could one ever operate on instinct alone? And if one were to try, to simply run forward on the path ahead with no thought for obstacles or divergent paths...where would it take them? Could they perhaps run off the heavy weight that dragged down those such as the King of Knights, or would it be that moral leash which stopped them cold and forced them back?   
  
Perhaps the only way to find out was to start running.


	16. Burning Village

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, I hope literally everyone had a better year than me. Can't promise regular updates, but I'm gonna finish this if it kills me and follow up with a sequel that's planned to be a LOT more distant from canon.

In life she had held a name, but only for a time. What name and identity the woman once carried had been lost when she was still but a child. It had been shed, abandoned, and left to sink into the darkness which she embraced and became. The child Atalaya had disappeared, and from the remains slipped the shadow called Hassan. She had become another iteration in the line originating the term 'assassin' itself, and nothing more or less.

"Man...did you just get a chill?"

And now, she was answering to one who could be charitably termed 'an idiot'. Their Master had ceased in his wanderings (he lacked a home, much less a proper headquarters) and leaned back against a railing that overlooked the Mion River. On his face was a frown like that of a confused child trying to piece something together. Behind her white mask, the Assassin in hidden spirit form rolled her eyes. 

"No, my Master. I am, as I said before, in spirit form to avoid detection."

How frustrating this makeshift Master was, how unbelievably weak and unskilled. Death was something to be dealt out with a swift hand and purpose in one's mind. But this person, this Ryuunosuke to whom she had been contracted...to him, death and the inflicting of pain were some manner of sport. He drew joy from it, and not merely the satisfaction in defeating one's enemies.

"However," the shadow continued, looking out over the water, "there is something out there. A fluctuation of prana somewhere upriver, I believe...though I can not discern the source."

Childish confusion remained on Ryuunosuke's face, the serial killer tilting his head as though Assassin had used one too many large words for him to comprehend. Silence passed in which the shadow came very close to regretting every decision she had ever made which resulted in this specific situation.

"There is likely an enemy Servant at work in the river." she explained flatly.

Ryuunosuke grinned in understanding, looking over his shoulder to the water reflecting the night sky. "Soooooo..." He stretched out the vowel sound with the tones of someone who was distinctly fishing for the right way to keep the conversation going. In other words, this Master of hers knew nothing of anything. Though she--several of the Assassins, in fact--had explained Servants and the Grail War to him in excruciating detail, he was more interested in his own 'recreation'. Often he asked each of them about the methods they used to kill, only to be disappointed upon hearing a long list of efficient methods from poison to decapitation. These lines of questioning continued until he nearly exhausted his prana reserves trying to keep so many manifested, and for the moment it fell to only one Hassan to function alone as his Servant.

What a terrible job.

"So." she repeated, word stabbing like her knives. "We--that is to say, you and your Servants--" She stressed the plural form; aside from one instance in which he'd wasted a Command Spell on a 'game' of competitive child murder which the shadow decided was best left forgotten, her Master didn't seem to realize how effective multiple Assassins could truly be. They were one in the form of many, and under competent command could act as a force to truly be reckoned with. "--may either choose to scout out the cause of this disturbance, or even simply engage it if you wish." 

Humming to himself as though considering the idea, Ryuunosuke opened his mouth to answer. But as soon as he had, a heavy pulse went through the air and carried with it a thick wave of purple mist that washed over Assassin and Ryuunosuke alike. The latter was nearly knocked flat on his back, dark eyes widening and darting wildly as he spun around to find the source.

Before them, the water began to churn furiously, stirred by a great existence coming into being below the blackened surface. Thick tentacles broke the surface as it emerged, arising in a writhing motion that reached towards the dark sky as if to claim that as well as the river. Though the miasma obscured its form in detail even from where Ryuunosuke and Assassin stood, the Master stared openmouthed as he took in the horrific sight. From further down the bridge, the horrified and stunned screams of passerby could already be heard. As Assassin braced herself in preparation of an attack, the amateur mage that had been knocked to the ground looked from left to right. The creature, whatever it was, had inspired absolute terror by simply appearing...that was something he found truly admirable.

Uryuu Ryuunosuke was one to whom the mere concept of death held true fascination. For a fleeting second, he recalled the day he'd seen blood's true color for the first time--as it spilled from the body of his sister. Why now did he recall the first of dozens of murders he had committed?

Because, the serial killer realized, because this was an even greater experience than the one which initially opened his eyes to death's thrilling nature. Whatever this thing was, it exuded--no, _personified_ death. Could that be this monster's entire nature, to murder and kill and continue on doing so?

Ryuunosuke sprang to his feet, hands clenched into fists and eyes alight with pure, undiluted joy. Even Assassin was taken aback, half dropping her stance to look at him in what could have been disbelief behind the white skull mask.

"That's...so... _cool!_ " he shouted, fists pumping enthusiastically. As people ran for their lives around the pair, Ryuunosuke turned to the female Assassin with a grin of true and genuine happiness on his face.

"Mas...ter...?" she inquired, hesitant. The woman had never seen such elation on her Master's face--indeed, not on the face of any man or woman whose hands were stained with blood as Ryuunosuke's and Assassin's own were. 

"Okay!" he chimed in a near singsong voice. "You want to do something, right? You're restless or something like that, yeah? Here's my order as your Master or whatever!" He threw one arm out towards the river, pointing at the unholy abomination that already seemed to be trying to move downriver. "I want you to follow that thing! Go along with it, and if anything tries to stop it, take them out!"

What a truly horrifying person she had been contracted to. Even for Assassin, Uryuu Ryuunosuke was an incomprehensible creature. But...this creature would surely draw out the other Masters, and if it didn't kill them, then Servant Assassin would have the chance to do so themselves. 

All that mattered in the end was the Grail. Whether or not Fuyuki remained standing at the end was none of a shadow's concern.


End file.
